| Upon this lowly railroad spike my hammer swung and fell. |
| Down the mighty
|
| Mississipp,' where the raging waters swell. |
| In the corner of that factory,
|
| a dark man-made hell
|
| I’ll be sitting there in my snare making what they sell
|
| With a silver spoon breaking my teeth, the boys on the line working just to eat.
|
| Are you picturing the stories that I sing?
|
| A child working day and night
|
| A father turned into a ghostly sight
|
| The wage slave knows so well that hopeless strain
|
| Of a poor man just trying to remain
|
| As he pays his toll of pain
|
| From the dear old age of Adam to the workers of Boaz
|
| We’ve been doomed to sing this crazy song, yet it’s made me who I am
|
| From the steel workers in Pittsburgh, to the trucker and his load
|
| All feeding that old fat cat just hoping he’ll explode
|
| With a silver spoon breaking my teeth
|
| The boys on the line working just to eat, are you picturing the stories that I
|
| sing?
|
| A child working day and night
|
| A father turned into a ghostly sight
|
| The wage slave knows so well that hopeless strain
|
| Of a poor man trying to remain
|
| As he pays his toll of pain
|
| We’ve been working for far too long
|
| We’ve been doomed to hear this lowly song for our sons
|
| Our sweat must be working just to fall
|
| I’m a slave to that whistle call
|
| I’m a slave to that whistle call
|
| From the dear old age of Adam to the workers of Boaz
|
| We’ve been doomed to sing this crazy song, yet it’s made me who I am
|
| From the steel workers in Pittsburgh, to the trucker and his load
|
| All feeding that old fat cat just hoping he’ll explode
|
| With a silver spoon breaking my teeth, the boys on the line working just to eat,
|
| are you picturing the stories that I sing?
|
| A child working day and night
|
| A father turned into a ghostly sight
|
| The wage slave knows so well that hopeless strain
|
| Of a poor man trying to remain
|
| As he pays his toll of pain
|
| As he pays his toll of pain
|
| We’ve been working for far too long
|
| We’ve been doomed to hear this crazy song for our sons
|
| Our sweat must be working just to fall
|
| I’m a slave to that whistle call
|
| I’m a slave to that whistle call. |
| I’m a slave |