A BALLAD OF SOCIALISM
 
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I'm abso-bloomin'-lutely, well, disgusted with the world,
I'm a bloke as sees things as they reely are!
I may not be a Barownite, nor yet a belted Hearl,
But I've got my feelin's ain't I? there you are.
I've been readin' in the paper of the aristocryites;
I ain't allowed to breave the bloomin' air!
There's Mrs. Snookson goes and gets presented up at Court
Just because 'er 'usband is a millionaire.
And wot do I get? Ain't it 'orrible ter think,
Some people seems ter think as I'm a dunce.
She gets presented and the Queen gives 'er a sable fur,
A diamond tarara, and 'er 'usband's made a Sir;
Wot do I get? Seven months!
And wot do we get? Ain't it 'orrible ter think,
There are undereds of others just the same!
So put your 'eads together boys and over goes the show
Your shoulder to the wheel and let the hupper classes know!
I harsks yer, hare we Henglishmen? I 'ears you answer No!
Wot do we get? It's a shime!

Then there's my Lord Fitz-Noodle just because 'e is a torf
'As a job dahn in a horfis in Pall Mall,
'E goes ter work at one, then 'as two hours for dinner orf.
And at three 'e toddles 'ome to Lady Nell!
And if 'e ain't too busy well 'e puts in for a rise
And they offers 'im another thou' a year,
'E 'as motor-cars and 'orses, every whim 'e gratifies,
Do they offer me a thou'? No bloomin' fear!
Wot do I get? Ain't it 'orrible ter think,
I'm a government employee same as Fitz.
I works dahn at the Arsenal, but when the other night
I asked the foreman for a rise, 'e says to me 'All right!'
And then 'e puts me on a job a-shiftin' dynamite,
And wot do I get? Blown ter bits!
Wot do we get? Ain't it 'orrible ter think,
There are 'undreds of others just the same.
Shall we sit and smoke our Woodbines, five a penny there you are;
While the bloated aristocracy can smoke a bob cigar,
I harsks yer hare we slives or wot? You answers me 'We are!'
Wot do we get? It's a shime!

Don't think as 'ow I think as I'm a hangel 'cause I'm nont!
I'm just a very hordinary man.
But I thinks the state of property to-day is Tommy-rot,
And I tries to rearrange it all I can!
And wot do I get for my trouble? Why a year or so in quod,
And they looks at me with 'orror and surprise.
'Olds up their 'ands and says, 'Ho wot a wicked man 'e is!'
But I knocks 'em in the end for when I dies:
Wot do I get? Ain't it wonderful ter think,
Even 'eroes like Lord Beresford I whacks!
When 'e dies 'e 'as a stachue done in stone or bronze maybe,
And they shoves it in the parks and lets the public see it free,
But it's a hextra tanner dahn at Tussauds ter see me,
For wot do I get? Done in wax!
And wot do we get? Ain't it 'orrible ter think
There are undereds of others just the same.
Shall we work for fourteen hours every day, no bloomin' fear,
While the pampered sons of plutocrats goes swilling ginger-beer
And 'as their tripe and honions every evening of the year!
Wot do we get? It's a shime.
 
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Written and composed by Hugh E. Wright & Wolseley Charles - 1912
Performed by Hugh E. Wright (1879-1940)
 
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