In the prison cell we sit Are we broken hearted—nit We're as happy and as cheerful as can be, For we know that every wob Will be busy on the job, Till they swing the prison doors and set us free. CHORUS Are you busy Fellow Workers Are your shoulders to the wheel? Get together for the cause And some day you'll make the laws. It's the only way to make the masters squeal. Though the living is not grand, Mostly mush and coffee and, It's as good as we excepted when we came. It's the way they treat the slave In this free land of the brave There is no one but the working class to blame When McRea, and Veitch, and Black To the Lumberyards go back May they travel empty handed as they came. May they turn in their report That the wobs still hold the fort That a rebel is an awful thing to tame. When the 65 per cent That they call the working gent Organizes in a Union of its class We will then get what we're worth That will be the blooming' earth. Organize and help to bring the thing to pass.
