No More Shall I Work in the Factory

No more shall I work in the factory
To greasy up my clothes,
No more shall I work in the factory
With splinters in my toes.

cho: It's pity me, my darling,
It's pity me, I say,
It's pity me, my darling,
And carry me away.

( Repeat after each verse)

No more shall I hear those Bosses say
"Boys, you'd better doff."
No more shall I hear those Aossess say
"Spinners, you had better clean off"

No more shall I hear the drummer wheels
A-rolling over my head;
When factory girls are hard at work,
I'll be in my bed.

No more shall I hear the whistle blow,
To call me up so soon:
No more shall I hear the whistle blow
To call me from my home.

No more shall I see the super come,
All dressed up so fine:
For I know I'll marry a country boy
Before the year is round.

No more shall I wear the old black dress,
Greasy all around;
No more shall I wear the old black bonnet,
With holes all in the crown.

From Hard Hitting Songs, Guthrie et al
RG