THE STRIKERS
The strikers call for more and more;
For they sail a sea without a shore;
Ah, yes, they’ll strike forever more!
Let merit go, it were a sin
For any plan but a strike to win;
And hence they strike forever more!
No brother they to the monied man;
The law of love—“Oh damn the plan!
We’ll vote to strike forever more!”
The public is pleased; ’tis a joy each day
To the folks at home, without a way;
So why not strike forever more?
For coal and food, let a nation suffer;
Let good and bad be made a buffer—
Yes, plan to strike forever more.
Our hard-fought war with the hot-headed-Hun
Was children’s play compared to the fun
That strikes produce forever more.
Their wives and children mustn’t whine
Without their part, ’tis ever so fine,
The strikers’ way forever more.
Alas, the blind, who makes the broom
Has threatened quits till crack of doom—
Unless he gets a plenty and more.
And teacher too who trains the child
Is asked to join the force that’s wild,
And close the school forever more!
Let wisdom go—’tis a by-gone game;
The striker’s god must win his fame—
Ah, strike and strike forever more.
“Come now,” says God, “and let us reason,
In every way, in every season,
Bar strikes of force forever more.”