Harvest War Song
Harvest War Song | |
Pat Brennan
| We are coming home, John Farmer, We are coming back to stay. For nigh on fifty years or more, We've gathered up your hay. We have slept out in your hayfields, We have heard your morning shout; We've heard you wondering Where in hell's them pesky go-abouts? Chorus: It's a long way, now understand me; It's a long way to town; It's a long way across the prairie, And to hell with Farmer John. Up goes machine or wages, And the hours must come down; For we're out for a winter's stake this summer, And we want no scabs around. | 2. You've paid the going wages, That's what kept us on the bum, You say you've done your duty, You chin-whiskered son of a gun. We have sent your kids to college, But still you must rave and shout, And call us tramps and hoboes, And pesky go-abouts. Chorus:
3. But now the wintry breezes |