O, come along girls, to the factory,
The production line is turning.
If you work all day for the minimum pay,
God knows what you’ll be earning.
Get stuck in as you arrive
To keep your family alive.
At the end of the week, you’ll just survive
To be the bosses’ darling.
Your patience and dexterity,
They’re endlessly adoring.
They say you’re suited for the job,
Which means the job is boring.
You think you’re getting equal pay,
But they have found a million ways
To keep you at the bottom of the heap
‘Cause you’re the bosses’ darling.
The bosses love you well, you bet;
They know that you’ll be loyal.
You’re a breeding ground for the working man
And a resting place from toil.
You have no time for the union:
You leave that kind of thing to men.
You’re a second-class worker and a mother hen.
That’s why you’re the bosses’ darling.
These days, we’re getting organized;
This time, we won’t be beaten.
It’s, “You lend a hand with the frying pan,
I’m off to a union meetin.’
You scabs who cross our picket line,
Remember, you’ll get yours in time.
The enemy’s the same, yours and mine:
The scab’s the bosses’ darling.”