Industrial Relations In the 1960s

The shop floor view of the newly promoted Oh to be the factory foreman and to wear a posh white coat Just the thought of all that power brings a lump right to your throat No more dirty hands or hob nail boots or boiler suits for you No more rushing through your break time just relax and drink your brew Carrying your briefcase, there’s no need for you to hide it We all know that like your head there’s not a lot inside it With your clipboard and your pencil you can wander round the site Whilst assuming great authority you put us workers right You believe we are in awe of you and hold you in esteem If that is what you really think your living in a dream We have seen all your back stabbing and we don’t know how you sleep Everybody knows you as a sycophantic creep We heard you telling everyone in the works canteen That you now had access to the managers latrine It’s true that for promotion you were first past the post Yet the workers here all see you as a bigger pratt than most We have read all your new rules and how we face the sack We are all in the union and we’ll be fighting back Don’t go thinking as a foreman that your future is secured Your about to be upended by a young smart-arsed shop steward