Mothers Song

New words for Ed Pickford’s ‘Workers Song’

Come all of you mothers
Who toil night and day
By hand and by brain
Without any pay
Who for centuries long past
Have made the world’s bread
Have bled for your children
And counted your dead.

In the factories and mills
Hospitals and schools
You’ve often been told
To follow the rules
Your skills are not valued
The men run the job
With unequal pay,
Your pride they have robbed.

But when the sky darkens
And the money gets hard,
Who’s given a spade
And then pushed to the yard?
The family to feed,
By the work of your hand
When you never owned 
One handful of land.

She’s the first one to starve
She’s the first one to die
She’s the first one in line
For that “pie in the sky”
And she’s always the last
When the cream is shared out
For the mother is working
When the husbands are out

When it comes to your body,
And the rights that you own,
It’s been made a prison,
Enslaved in your home,
You are blamed for the rape,
And the pregnancy too,
And now the decisions
Are not up to you.

All of these things
The mother has done
From tilling a field
To bearing the young
Yoked to the plough
Since time first began
And always expected to carry the man

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *