Twelve hundred feet below,
A man crushed up by a fall of lead,
Twelve hundred feet below.
The miners came to the surface then,
For twenty-four hours below
When a man is killed they mourn a man,
For twenty-four hours below.
A Yankee cartel owned the mine,
So full of lead below,
A Yankee boss he watched the line,
Of the funeral from below.
"Well goddam man," at last he said,
" if you stop work for a man that's dead
You never will work again," he said,
And he was fairly blowing.
"If you stop work for twenty-four,
You never will work no goddam more;
We'll kill a man a day," he said,
" When we get really going.
"They bury their comrades with the rest,
And watch while his grave is filled, O.
Then they go to work with a right good will,
UNTIL ANOTHER MAN'S KILLED, O.
UNTIL ANOTHER MAN'S KILLED.
Contributed by Bartleby - 2012/1/3 - 08:27
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