Tom: C
Introdução:
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Fifteen long years in the strip mill at Ravenscraig,
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twenty-five more in the bowels of the earth,
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digging for fuel to fire the bosses
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who turn around and tell us that we've no more work.
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Close it down, shut it. Not enough profit.
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Padlock the gates, aye, and send the men home.
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No sir, not viable we've become liable
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for the working class people, whose work is all done.
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Long days in the shipyards, quietly waiting,
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redundancy notice in holiday pay.
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Privatized power for fortunate people
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with shares in the marketplace ready to trade.
(Chorus)
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Fat cats are sharing the cream of the booty
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while people lay shivering in boxes of card.
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No jobs today come back tomorrow.
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We'll tell you the same thing, it isn't so hard.
(Chorus)
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Lay off the workers, the fathers, the sons
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people who spent their lives under the ground
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earning a wage for a family to keep all their
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heads above water, 'til the next work is found.