Ballad For My Old Man

My father was a bitter man, he worked til he was dead
For twenty years he toiled but my family was fed
My mother cried for one full day, but when that day was done
The factory called her up and asked for me, her one and only son

The factory life is all I have, an all inclusive club
When my full day of work is done, I head down to the pub
ballad for the working man, the proletariat
We work, we slave, we live, we die, and soon, we will rise up

Stand up, And fight
So many sitting idly by is no one conscious of our class
Stand up, and fight
Never will the exploitation end our conscience suffers, and so we die

I know that I am naught but just an ordinary man
I’m none too smart, but God help me, I do all that I can
And when look upon my children’s unsuspecting eyes
My heart grows sad as I see them corrupted, by the systems lies

If I should die today I know that I’d go straight to hell
I’d look the devil in the eyes, I’d ring his fiery bell
And then I’d go to heaven and see my father once again
He’d look me up, he’d look me down and say son………
Where on earth have you been?