Chumbawamba - Song On The Times lyrics
[Chumbawamba - Song On The Times lyrics]
You working men of England
One moment now attend
While I unfold the treatment of
The poor upon this land
For nowadays the factory lords have
Brought the labour low
And daily are contriving plans
To prove our overthrow
So arouse! You sons of freedom!
The world seems upside down
They scorn the poor man as a
Thief in country and in town
There's different parts in Ireland
It's true what I do state
There's hundreds that are starving for they
Can't get food to eat
And if they go unto the rich
To ask them for relief
They bang their door all in their face
As if they were a thief
So arouse! You sons of freedom!
The world seems upside down
They scorn the poor man as a
Thief in country and in town
Alas how altered are the times
Rich men despise the poor
And pay them off without remorse
Quite scornful at their door
And if a man is out of
Work his Parish pay is small
Enough to starve himself and wife
His children and all
So arouse! You sons of freedom!
The world seems upside down
They scorn the poor man as a
Thief in country and in town
So to conclude and finish these
Few verses I have made
I hope to see before it's long
Men for their labour paid
Then we'll rejoice with heart and voice
And banish all our woes
Before we do old England must
Pay us what she owes
So arouse! You sons of freedom!
The world seems upside down
They scorn the poor man as a
Thief in country and in town
One moment now attend
While I unfold the treatment of
The poor upon this land
For nowadays the factory lords have
Brought the labour low
And daily are contriving plans
To prove our overthrow
So arouse! You sons of freedom!
The world seems upside down
They scorn the poor man as a
Thief in country and in town
There's different parts in Ireland
It's true what I do state
There's hundreds that are starving for they
Can't get food to eat
And if they go unto the rich
To ask them for relief
They bang their door all in their face
As if they were a thief
So arouse! You sons of freedom!
The world seems upside down
They scorn the poor man as a
Thief in country and in town
Alas how altered are the times
Rich men despise the poor
And pay them off without remorse
Quite scornful at their door
And if a man is out of
Work his Parish pay is small
Enough to starve himself and wife
His children and all
So arouse! You sons of freedom!
The world seems upside down
They scorn the poor man as a
Thief in country and in town
So to conclude and finish these
Few verses I have made
I hope to see before it's long
Men for their labour paid
Then we'll rejoice with heart and voice
And banish all our woes
Before we do old England must
Pay us what she owes
So arouse! You sons of freedom!
The world seems upside down
They scorn the poor man as a
Thief in country and in town