My old man got up on Monday morning,
Started work before the day was dawning;
Worked all day in the burning sand
And lost two fingers of his right hand
But he'd built the sodding pyramids by evening.
My old man got up on Tuesday morning,
Just as the early canteen queue was forming;
The grub was only fit for pigs
And the bugs were running the company digs
But he'd built the city of Nineveh by evening.
My old man got up on Wednesday morning,
Stood in the line with the other poor bastards, yawning;
The work was hard and the wages low
And the gangers whips were on the go,
But he'd built the town of Babylon by evening.
My old man got up on Thursday morning,
All the seven hills with slaves were swarming;
He built the Forum and the Coliseum
And some fat bastard’s mausoleum,
And the rest of Rome he built before the evening.
My old man got up on Friday morning,
All around the thunderheads were storming;
Up to the waist in stinking mud
And blind with fever, sweating blood,
But he'd dug the Suez Canal before the evening.
My old man got up on Saturday morning,
Smelt the first cold smell of winter's dawning;
The boss just laughed at the poor old sod
Who'd built the world and carried the hod,
They gave him his cards, paid him off that evening.
My old man got up on Sunday morning,
Went and gave the boss this little warning:
You've sat on your arse and played at God
And watched me sweat and carry the hod.
But now that caper's over, chum, you're leaving!
Started work before the day was dawning;
Worked all day in the burning sand
And lost two fingers of his right hand
But he'd built the sodding pyramids by evening.
My old man got up on Tuesday morning,
Just as the early canteen queue was forming;
The grub was only fit for pigs
And the bugs were running the company digs
But he'd built the city of Nineveh by evening.
My old man got up on Wednesday morning,
Stood in the line with the other poor bastards, yawning;
The work was hard and the wages low
And the gangers whips were on the go,
But he'd built the town of Babylon by evening.
My old man got up on Thursday morning,
All the seven hills with slaves were swarming;
He built the Forum and the Coliseum
And some fat bastard’s mausoleum,
And the rest of Rome he built before the evening.
My old man got up on Friday morning,
All around the thunderheads were storming;
Up to the waist in stinking mud
And blind with fever, sweating blood,
But he'd dug the Suez Canal before the evening.
My old man got up on Saturday morning,
Smelt the first cold smell of winter's dawning;
The boss just laughed at the poor old sod
Who'd built the world and carried the hod,
They gave him his cards, paid him off that evening.
My old man got up on Sunday morning,
Went and gave the boss this little warning:
You've sat on your arse and played at God
And watched me sweat and carry the hod.
But now that caper's over, chum, you're leaving!
inviata da Bernart Bartleby - 31/7/2015 - 08:59
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Nel suo disco del 1980 intitolato “Kilroy Was Here”, con Peggy Seeger
Una canzone che non può non ricordare la Domande di un lettore operaio di Brecht.