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Poem	A hundred people I employed, But when they struck for higher pay, I was so damnably annoyed I told them they could stay away. I simply shut my business down; I closed my doors and locked them out, And now you'll find all round the town A lot of idle men about. Of course I know it is my loss, And I their point of view can see, But I must show them I'm the boss, And any raise must come from ME. But when they claim it as a right, And send their Union leaders round, Why then, by God, I'm out to fight, Or burn my workshop to the ground. I've risen from the ranks myself; By brawn and brain I've made my way. Had I bet, beered and blown my pelf, I would have been as poor as they. Had I wed young to thrift's unheed, I might have been a toiler now, With rent to pay and kids to feed, And bloody sweat upon my brow. Ah there's the point! "I might have been." I might have been as peeved as they, And know what misery can mean, And ask like them a raise of pay. I see myself. . . . "The telephone!" . . . Had I not been so bloody wise - (A poor old rich man all alone) . . . "Hullo! Strike's off. I grant the rise."
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