She took in the washing, she took in the sewing.
she scrubbed other's door steps,
just to keep her self going.
For her husband and son, on the picket line stood.
Not that she thought it would do any good.
The government swore, it ranted, it raved.
The owner's, they thought of the money they saved.
"Put up the wages," the miner's all cried.
"Even the poor man must stand with his pride."
Their hearts were as black as the coal they once hewed.
Their anger spilled over, their poor wives all knew,
That money once earned, would not come again.
The men would stand out in the wind and the rain.
The men in the north, joined the men from the south.
All over the land was heard a great shout.
"Better conditions, more money we need.
God damn the gentry, their wealth and their greed."
Our children are crying, the hunger, it's pain.
The wealthy make sport, out hunting for game.
Down through the village, the city and town,
plans were afoot how to bring poor folk down.
"If we all stand together, let them see we are strong,
Surely the bosses will know they are wrong.
We will fight for our rights, our families, our homes.
Not one of our workers will feel he's alone.
They marched down to London, their hearts full of hope.
Not knowing that horses would stamp their lives out.
They died as they lived, their eyes full of pain.
They died for their unions, it's creed and it's aims.
We must not forget them, though we live far away.
Keep fighting the bosses, to get better pay.
We must not forget what they gave to the world.
The unions, it's creed and the right to be heard.©
Written about the 1919 strikes and the beginning of the Unions
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