| C | Am | |
| No | more shall I work in the | factory, |
| C | Em |
| Greasy up my | clothes; |
| C | Am | |
| No | more shall I work in the fact | ory |
| G7 | C | |
| With | splinters in my | toes. |
Chorus:
| C | Em |
| Pity me my darling, pity me I | say; |
| C | Am | G7 | C |
| Pity me my | darling, and | carry me | away. |
No more shall I hear the bosses say,
"Boys, you'd better daulf,"
No more shall I hear those bosses say,
"Spinners, you'd better clean off."
No more shall I hear the drummer wheels
A-rolling over my head,
When factories are hard at work,
I'll be in my bed.
No more shall I hear the whistle blow,
To call me up so soon;
No more shall I hear the whistle blow,
To call me from my home.
No more shall I see the super come,
All dressed up so proud;
For I know I'll marry a country boy
Before the year is out.
No more shall I wear the old black dress,
Greasy all around;
No more shall I wear the old black bonnet
With holes all in the crown.
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