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Texts :: culture |
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Kitchenhand |
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by Steve London |
29 Aug 2005
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Song of the Industrial Workers of the World, Australia |
(to the tune of Soldier Soldier)
Kitchenhand, kitchenhand, won't you work for me, with your apron, cap and cloth?
No, Head Chef, I cannot work for you for I have no head for my mop.
So off she went to her main supplier and got him one of the very best.
And the kitchenhand was well pleased.
Kitcnenhand, kitchenhand, won't you work for me, with your apron,cap and cloth?
No, Head Chef, I cannot work for you, for I have no teatowels that are dry.
So off she went to her hidden stash and got him one of the very, very best.
And the kitchenhand was well pleased.
Kitchenhand, kitchenhand, won't you work for me, with your apron, cap and cloth?
No, Head Chef, I cannot work for you, for I have no pay from last week.
So off she went to the resturants' till and got him cash of the very, very best.
And the kitchenhand was well pleased.
Kitchenhand, kitchenhand, won't you work for me, with your apron, cap and cloth?
No, Head Chef, I cannot work for you, for I haven't had a scrap of food.
So off she went to her gleaming bench and burnt him some of the very, very best.
And the kitchenhand was well pleased.
Kitchenhand, kitchenhand, won't you work for me, with your apron, cap and cloth?
No, Head Chef, I cannot work for you, for I have no workers right to sue.
So off she went to Steve Bracks office and failed though she did her very, very best.
So the kitchenhand joined the Union. |
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