The Work Song

Though millions are waiting without any work We labor too hard for the lucky who shirk We forfeit our rest for the job that we do And working continues until we are through If we should expire to rest just a bit The man is a liar who calls you a twit The foreman is ill so we work for his son No battle this sick is a victory won We labor all week and we labor too hard We labor to sleep in the back of the yard A pillow of leaves and a lawn for a bed A willow should weep for the yawn in my head The way that we band is for calm and restraint The clay in our sand is a common complaint The units we do by the proudest to know Are more than just who is the loudest to blow The job was completed but not without fun The laugh that we needed was true for each one The job on display was the hardest we did The slob of the day was the foreman’s own kid The pain in my heart is much worse in my head The first thing I need is a room with a bed The doctor is in but my luck has run out The next job is waiting without any doubt.