My Old Man

My old man was a good old man Skilled in the moulding trade In the stinking heat of the iron foundry My old man was made Down on his knees in the moulding sand He wore his trade like a company brand He was one of the cyclops' smoky band Yes, that was my old man My old man wasn't really old It's just that I was young And anybody over twelve years old Was halfway to the tomb He was loyal to his workmates all his life Gave his pay packet to his wife Had a few jars on a Saturday night Yes, that was my old man My old man was a union man Fought hard all his days He understood the system And was wise to the boss' ways He says, you want what's yours by right You have to struggle with all your might They'll rob you blind if you don't fight Yes, that was my old man My old man was a proud old man At home on the foundry floor Until the day they laid him off And showed him to the door They gave him his card, said, things are slack We've got a machine can learn the knack Of doing your job, so don't come back The end of my old man My old man he was fifty-one What was he to do? A craftsman moulder on the dole In nineteen thirty-two He felt he'd given all he could give So he did what thousands of others did Abandoned hope and the will to live They killed him, my old man My old man he is dead and gone Now I am your old man And my advice to you, my son Is to fight back while you can Watch out for the man with the silicon chip Hold on to your job with a good firm grip 'Cause if you don't you'll have had your chips The same as my old man --- My Old Man - Ewan MacColl and Peggy Seeger