A poem by Chas. J. Franlin
[By a Union Secretary]
I wandered thru the shed one day
And heard complaints and what men say;
Their one complaint appeared to be
Look what the bastards have done to me.
It seemed quite strange for me to hear
So frequently this statement queer;
They would say why damn it Gor'blimey
Just look what the bastards have done to me.
I should be day shift with my batch
And hoped to see a football match.
What chance have I a game to see?
Look what the bastards have done to me.
7 a.m. my roster said
For the last six weeks I've been out of bed,
Now I'm put back to half past three . . .
What next will the bastards do to me?
If I lodge complaints about my cause
They only quote some rule or clause,
I've got no case they all agree,
Just look what the bastards have done to me!
In order to save domestic strife
I made a promise to the wife;
Won't poor old mum be pleased to see
What the bastards have done to me!
"Off duty tomorrow", the wire says,
I said to the wife, "God spare me days
I'm short of my time to buggery . . .
And look what the bastards have done to me."
What is the Union doing for us?
And I'm not one to make a fuss;
We're in a state of pregnancy,
Look what the bastards have done to me.
No justice in this blasted hole,
I ventured — "Why not see control?"
Control! Why, one of the worst is he,
Look what that bastard has done to me.
The moral they all will have to learn,
In hell we hope the bastards burn,
May they also feel the iniquity
And get what the bastards do to me.
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