I got a job in a factory
Feeding a beast that don't like me
It don't give a darn about how I feel
As long as I feed it its ration of steel
And pity the man who knows the grief
That comes with the bite of that monster's teeth
Pity the man who knows the grief
That comes with the bite of that monster's teeth
Watch your mitts at the start of the stroke
It's a re-peat killer, and will go for broke
It shoulda been melted 'bout twenty years back
But it feeds the boss and he loves that snack
Oh Beast, spare my hands
I'll use them to slay you if I get the chance
Oh Beast, spare my hands
I'll use them to slay you if I get the chance
There ain't no guards to slow up a man
Keep your foot on the pedal and your eye on the ram
If your hand should slip, why the boss don't shout
He just buys new fingers as he throws you out
There's plenty of hands to feed the jaws
The press don't stop when there ain't no cause
There's plenty of hands to feed the jaws
The press don't stop when there ain't no cause
There ain't one man out on the press
Who wouldn't quit if jobs weren't scarce
But a man has to have his daily meal
And that Beast's gotta have its cold rolled steel
Deep inside remain the dreams
That make us the masters of the machines
While deep inside remain the dreams
That make us the masters of the machines
Well, now, I got a job in a factory
Feeding a beast that don't like me
It don't give a darn about how I feel
As long as I feed it its ration of steel
Long as I feed it its ration of steel
Feeding a beast that don't like me
It don't give a darn about how I feel
As long as I feed it its ration of steel
And pity the man who knows the grief
That comes with the bite of that monster's teeth
Pity the man who knows the grief
That comes with the bite of that monster's teeth
Watch your mitts at the start of the stroke
It's a re-peat killer, and will go for broke
It shoulda been melted 'bout twenty years back
But it feeds the boss and he loves that snack
Oh Beast, spare my hands
I'll use them to slay you if I get the chance
Oh Beast, spare my hands
I'll use them to slay you if I get the chance
There ain't no guards to slow up a man
Keep your foot on the pedal and your eye on the ram
If your hand should slip, why the boss don't shout
He just buys new fingers as he throws you out
There's plenty of hands to feed the jaws
The press don't stop when there ain't no cause
There's plenty of hands to feed the jaws
The press don't stop when there ain't no cause
There ain't one man out on the press
Who wouldn't quit if jobs weren't scarce
But a man has to have his daily meal
And that Beast's gotta have its cold rolled steel
Deep inside remain the dreams
That make us the masters of the machines
While deep inside remain the dreams
That make us the masters of the machines
Well, now, I got a job in a factory
Feeding a beast that don't like me
It don't give a darn about how I feel
As long as I feed it its ration of steel
Long as I feed it its ration of steel
inviata da Dead End - 7/3/2013 - 13:12
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Parole di Bernie Packer, un operaio amico di Pete Seeger che passò buona parte della sua vita a lavorare alle presse in fabbriche metalmeccaniche.
Musica di Pete Seeger.
Nel disco “Pete Seeger - Broadside Ballads, Vol. 2” edito dalla Folkways Records nel 1963
La bestia feroce in questione è la pressa che divora senza tregua tanto le lastre d’acciaio quanto le dita e la vita dell’operaio…