They fuck you up, those who seem great,
And do so while you’re on your knees,
They leave you nothing on your plate,
Their class is a social disease.

But they’re determined, in their way,
By forces beyond their control,
To grind you down each live-long day,
Then count the pennies that they stole.

Class hands on misery to class,
This our clear and certain fate,
You’re stuck there in your huddled mass,
Till one big union makes us great.

John Moynes

(Laura Hutton/Photocall Ireland)