A great long chain stretched out in front,
Had bound us ere we could recall,
In droves we toiled neath the sun,
A pittance doled to everyone.
Into my beaten back a shunt,
Had bucked my knees and made me fall,
I heard a call for justice then,
That we may never toil again.
Along the iron length we trod,
Through scenes of wanton misery,
Ahead the pit boss called the shots,
Twas him who could improve our lots.
From bleeding knuckles grabbed the prod,
Before us bent and quashed was he,
We bargained thus for greater gains,
And failed to see he too had chains.
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