Garnet Rogers - My Old Man lyrics

My old man was a good old man, Sk**ed in the moulding trade In the stinking heat of the iron foundry, My old man was made. Down on his knees in the moulding sand, He wore his trade like a company brand. One of Cyclop's smoky band, Yes that was my old man. My old man wasn't really old T'was just that I was young And anyone over 12 years old was halfway to the tomb. He was loyal to his workmates all his life He gave his pay packet to his wife. Had a few jars on a Saturday night Yes that was my old man. My old man was a Union man. Fought hard all his days. He understood the system and was wise to the bosses' ways. He said if you want what's yours by right You'll have to struggle with all your might They'll rob you blind if you don't fight. Yes, that was my old man. My old man was a proud old man At home on the foundry floor. Until the day they paid him off and showed him to the door. They gave him his cards , said "Things are slack, We've got a machine now that's learned the knack Of doing your job, so don't come back." The end of my old man. My old man was 51. And what was he to do? A craftsman moulder on the dole in 1932. He felt he'd given all he could give, So he did what thousands of others did. He abandoned hope and the will to live It k**ed him My old man. My old man is dead and gone. Now I am your old man. My advice to you my child Is to fight back while you can. Beware of the man with the silicon chip. Hold onto your job with a good firm grip. 'cause if you don't you'll have had your chips The same as my old man.