My old man was a good old man
Skilled in the moulding trade
In the stinking heat of the iron foundry

My old man was made
Down on his knees in the moulding sand
He wore his trade like a company brand

He was one of the cyclops' smoky band
Yes, that was my old man


My old man wasn't really old
It's just that I was young
And anybody over twelve years old

Was halfway to the tomb
He was loyal to his workmates all his life
Gave his pay packet to his wife

Had a few jars on a Saturday night
Yes, that was my old man


My old man was a union man
Fought hard all his days
He understood the system

And was wise to the boss' ways
He says, you want what's yours by right
You have to struggle with all your might

They'll rob you blind if you don't fight
Yes, that was my old man


My old man was a proud old man
At home on the foundry floor
Until the day they laid him off

And showed him to the door
They gave him his card, said, things are slack
We've got a machine can learn the knack

Of doing your job, so don't come back
The end of my old man


My old man he was fifty-one
What was he to do?
A craftsman moulder on the dole

In nineteen thirty-two
He felt he'd given all he could give
So he did what thousands of others did

Abandoned hope and the will to live
They killed him, my old man


My old man he is dead and gone
Now I am your old man
And my advice to you, my son

Is to fight back while you can
Watch out for the man with the silicon chip
Hold on to your job with a good firm grip

'Cause if you don't you'll have had your chips
The same as my old man