Eight Hours' Work, Eight Hours' Pay.
Written, Composed and Sung by F. V. St. Clair.
They say our country, truly, is a free and happy land,
Beneath her flag you'll never find a slave,
Her sons are all true-hearted, and in war a noble band,
Upon the field they're ever true and brave.
But do we treat our sons of toil as men who build our fame-
Ah, no, they are not treated fair and square;
For what the British workman wants is fair and honest pay,
Of all fruits of his labor honest share.
And eight hours' work, eight hours' pay,
Eight hours' sleep, and eight bob a day.
And then the workingman joyfully will say,
God save the Queen and Rule Britannia.
Just at election time the horny-handed son of toil
Is sought by those who wish to gain a seat;
They promise him reforms, but when election time is o'er
He soon finds out the depth of their deceit.
The work that should be done at home is sent to foreign lands.
Both parties thus have ruined British trade;
Tin bayonets, guns that always burst,-from Germany were brought,
The very things that should be British made.-Chorus.
The wealthy should remember it is the workingman
Who in the rank and file great deeds have done;
George Stephenson and Livingstone and Scotia's Robert Burns
Rose from the toiling masses every one.
So let the rich remember that amongst our struggling poor
We have some nature's nobles now and then;
Not nobles like some of those who boast of Norman blood.
The masses yet may show far nobler men.-Chorus.