Article Index

  
34. We Want Nationalisation
(by Merseyside Young Socialists)
(To the tune of Land of Hope and Glory)

We want nationalisation
We want workers' control
We want union freedom
And the Tories on the dole
Down with billionaire bosses
Let them feel the workers' rage
We want equal pay at eighteen
And a national minimum wage
Out with sweated labour
Kick out the Tory clique
Equal pay for women
And a shorter working week
Higher old age pensions
Unity - white, black or brown
These are our intentions
When we've brought the Tories down
Comprehensive education
A fully free national health
For the workers of the nation
We'll use the nation's wealth
So three cheers for the workers
Who've had poverty far too long
And as we go to battle
We will sing this song
We want nationalisation
We want workers' control
We want union freedom
And the Tories on the dole
 
 
35. The Capitalist Game (by Merseyside Young Socialists)  (To the tune of The Patriot Game)
I am a school leaver, just fifteen years old
When I finished my schooling, I went straight on the dole
Now I'm disillusioned, my comrades are all the same
Cos till now we've been pawns in the capitalist game
[Chorus]
But now we are marching from all parts of the land
Comrades united, for socialism we stand
We fight for our freedom, we fight till we win
To make those capitalists pay for their capitalist sin
I was an apprentice, my time now is served
What jobs do they offer? Well such is their nerve
Leave your homes and go south, join the forces this week
Now you know why we're fighting this capitalist clique
[Chorus]
I've worked all my life, what rewards do I show?
Like my younger comrades, I'm rejected now
Despondent and bitter, we'll make a fresh stand
Never rest till we've banished the capitalist band
[Chorus]


36. Aye Lads (by Tyneside Young Socialists)
(To the tune of Blaydon Races)
Aye lads, we all want nationalisation
But not the kind they've got in the mines
Nor in the railway stations
We want workers' control, and not participation
And then we'll be on we're way - to the socialist transformation
 
 
37. Song of the United Front (by Bertoldt Brecht)
And just because he's human
He doesn't like a pistol to his headHe wants no servants under him
And no boss over is head
[Chorus]
Then left, two, three, then left, two, three
To the work that we must do
March on to the workers' united front
For you are a worker too
Another version
And man is only human
He must eat before he can think
Fine words are only empty air
But not his meat or his drink
[Chorus]
Then left, right, left, then left, right, left
There's a place, comrade, for you
March with us in the ranks of the working class
For you are a worker too
 
38. Sing a Song of Sixpence (from the 1929 Independent Labour Party Songbook)
Sing a song of sixpence, sing it every year
Sing it to the chancellor when budget time is near
Dad's at Monte Carlo
Mother's a Deauville
And sixpence off the income tax will buy another car
Sing a song of sixpence, tax the poor a lot
They only spend in wickedness the money they have got
Tuppence off the tea tax will not go very far
But sixpence off the income tax will buy another car
Sing a song of sixpence, its always nice to know
That wages may be falling, but profits grow and grow
Miners' folk and suchlike are very cheap to feed
But living in Belgravia is very dear indeed
 
39. Red Fly the Banners Oh (to the tune of Green Grow the Rushes Oh)
[Chorus 1]
I'll sing you one oh
Red fly the banners oh
What is your one oh?

One is workers' unity
And ever more shall be so

[Chorus 2]
I'll sing you two oh
Red fly the banners oh
What is your two oh?

Two, two the worker's hands
Working for a living oh
One is workers' unity
 
And ever more shall be so
[Repeat chorus and add each new line]
 
Three, three, the rights of man
Four for the four great teachers [shout Marx Engel Lenin Stalin]
Five for years of the socialist plan
Six for the Tolpuddle Martyrs
Seven for the hours of the working day
Eight for the eighth route army
Nine for the days of the general strike
Ten for the days that shook the world
Eleven for the Moscow Dynamos
Twelve for the Moscow Dynamo Reserves
 
40. Leon Trotsky is a Nazi (to the tune of Clementine)
Leon Trotsky was a nazi, oh I know it for a fact
First I read it then I said it, till the Stalin-Hitler pact
[Chorus]
Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling party line
Never break thee or forsake thee
Oh my darling party line
In a palace in the Kremlin in the fall of thirty nine
Sat a Russian and a Prussian working out the party line
[Chorus]
In Siberia, in Siberia, excavating for a mine
Was an old Bolshevik who forgot the party line
[Chorus]

[last verse to the tune of Auld Lang's Syne]

And should old Bolshies be forgot, and never brought to mind
You'll find them in Siberia, with a ball and chain behind
A ball and chain behind, my dear, a ball and chain behind
Joe Stalin shot the bloody lot for the sake of the party line
 
 
42. Summit in the Sky (to the tune of Pie in the Sky)
CP hacks they come out every night
Try to tell us what's left and what's right
They will say revolution is fine
Then they give us that coexistence line
[Chorus]
You'll have peace by and byIn that diplomatic summit in the sky
Fight munitions with petitions
You'll have peace in that summit in the sky, it's a lie
Yalta showed us some fine summitry
Here's the pie, some for you, some for me
But said Truman, I'll take one more slice
And the Greek working class paid the price[Chorus]
The UN is the world's force for peace
But it doesn't seem to like the Congolese
Kasavubu was able to see
What the UN had done for Syngman Rhee[Chorus]
CP deputies backed Guy Mollet
Tried to draw France from NATO away
Backed the war in Algeria without qualm
Now the French have their own atom bomb
[Chorus]
When we've done with the boss and glutton
When we've taken their hand off the button
Then at last you'll have peace in all lands
When the world is in working class hands
 
43. Free Beer for all the Workers (to the tune of Glory Glory Hallelujah)
[Chorus]
Free beer for all the workers
Free beer for all the workers
Free beer for all the workers
When the red revolution comes
We'll turn Buckingham Palace into a public lavatory
We'll turn Buckingham Palace into a public lavatory
We'll turn Buckingham Palace into a public lavatory
When the red revolution comes
[Chorus]
We'll make Princess Margaret do a striptease in the Strand
We'll make Princess Margaret do a striptease in the Strand
We'll make Princess Margaret do a striptease in the Strand
When the red revolution comes
[Chorus]
We'll make Winston Churchill smoke a Woodbine everyday
We'll make Winston Churchill smoke a Woodbine everyday
We'll make Winston Churchill smoke a Woodbine everyday
When the red revolution comes
[Chorus]
We'll make Hugh Gaitskill sell his shares in ICI
We'll make Hugh Gaitskill sell his shares in ICI
We'll make Hugh Gaitskill sell his shares in ICI
When the red revolution comes
[Chorus]
We'll make Lady Docker sweep the steps of Transport House
We'll make Lady Docker sweep the steps of Transport House
We'll make Lady Docker sweep the steps of Transport House
When the red revolution comes
[Chorus]

We'll make Johnny Gollan eat a dozen British roads
We'll make Johnny Gollan eat a dozen British roads
We'll make Johnny Gollan eat a dozen British roads
When the red revolution comes
[Chorus]

44. Bomb the Bourgeoisie (to the tune of The Lincolnshire Poacher)
Now when I entered politics
To see the workers free
I left the Labour Party
And I joined the red CP
With bags of gold from Moscow boys
And tons of TNT
Oh tis my delight on a filthy night
To bomb the bourgeoisie
 
45. Blow the Bloody Bugles Boys
Blow the bloody bugles boys
And bang the bloody drums
We'll blow the bloody bourgeoisie to bloody kingdom come
Build the bloody fires boys
As high as bloody pyres
And we'll burn the bloody bastards one by one
 
46. Onward Tribune Socialists (to the tune of Onward Christian Soldiers)
Onward Tribune socialists, marching through the storm
We have found the answer, and the answer's left reform
We want more council houses, one in every town
Scrap and rebuild the army, keep unemployment down
We demand no sackings and five days wages too
But if we can't get it, then four days wages will do

And if this escapes us, we'll try something new
We'll slap on import charges, and tax the bosses too
Onwards into Parliament, march the leftist hoards
We demand inquiries into the House of Lords
And to please the workers, we'll have a special prize
As an almighty climax, we might even nationalise
 
47. 1945 Election Campaign
Vote vote vote for Clement Atlee
Chuck old Churchill down the drain
If it wasn't for the law
I would sock him in the jaw
And we wouldn't see old Churchill anymore
 
48. Red Flag Once a Year (to the tune of The Red Flag)

The people's flag is palest pink
Its not as red as you may think
White collar workers stand and cheer
The Labour government is here
We'll change the country bit by bit
So nobody will notice it
And just to prove we're still sincere
We'll sing the red flag once a year
 
49. Harry (Pollitt) was a Bolshie
Harry was a bolshie, one of Stalin's lads
Till he was foully murdered by reactionary cads
By reactionary cads, by reactionary cads
Till he was foully murdered by reactionary cads
Old Harry went to heaven, met St Peter with the keys
Said he, can I see comrade god, I'm Harry Pollitt please
I'm Harry Pollitt please, I'm Harry Pollitt please
Said he, can I see comrade god, I'm Harry Pollitt please
Who are you said St Peter, are you humble and contrite
I'm a friend of Lady Astor's. Well come in, that's quite alright
Well come in, that's quite alright, well come in, that's quite alright
I'm a friend of Lady Astor's. Well come in, that's quite alright
They put him in the choice, but the hymns he did not like
So he organised the angels, and brought them out on strike
And brought them out on strike, and brought them out on strike
So he organised the angels, and brought them out on strike
One day when god was walking through heaven to meditate
What did he see but Harry, chalking slogans on the gate
Chalking slogans on the gate, chalking slogans on the gate
What did he see but Harry, chalking slogans on the gate
They brought him up for trial before the holy ghost
For spreading disaffection among the heavenly host
Among the heavenly host, among the heavenly host
For spreading disaffection among the heavenly host
The verdict it was guilty, and Harry said oh well
Then tucked his nightie around his knees, and drifted down to hell
And drifted down to hell, and drifted down to hell
Then tucked his nightie around his knees, and drifted down to hell
Seven long years have passed and Harry's doing well
They've made him people's commissar of soviet socialist hell
Of soviet socialist hell, of soviet socialist hell
They've made him people's commissar of soviet socialist hell
Another seven years have passed, John Gollan's there as well
And all the little devils have joined the YCL
Have joined the YCL, have joined the YCL
And all the little devils have joined the YCL

And the moral of this story is very plain to tell
If you want to be a Stalinist, then you can go to hell
Then you can go to hell, then you can go to hell
If you want to be a Stalinist, then you can go to hell
 
50. The People's Commissars (to the tune of The Bold Gendarmes)
We are the people's commissariat
The guardians of the workers' state
The vanguard of the proletariat
We teach them who they ought to hate
But when it comes to fellow travellers
Who ride in Yankee motor cars
We run them in, we run them in
We run them in, we run them in
We are the people's commissariat
We're on our guard for deviations
And anti-party groups we fight
We are the mentors of the nation
We teach them that left is right
And when it comes to trots and Bolsheviks
They're better kept behind steel bars
We run them in, we run them in
We run them in, we run them in
We are the people's commissariat
And when we meet with delegations
Of bosses from Western states
We strive for cordial relations
We all get drunk and call them mates
We drink to peaceful coexistence
We rather like their fat cigars
We drink their gin, we drink their gin
We drink their gin, we drink their gin
We are the people's commissariat
In our position life gets dangerous
When they decide to change the line
But we have friends who can arrange for us
To be let off with just a fine
But if our friends are liquidated
Our fate will be just like the czars
They'll rub us out, they'll rub us out
They'll rub us out, they'll rub us out
The bloody people's commissars
 
 
51. In memory of the Paris Commune -born 18 March 1871, and died in June the same year (by Walter CraneMarch, 1891)
What winged shape, with waving torch aflame
Wild with winds of March, and streaming hair
Above the storm clouds, doth to men declare
What message, and a memory doth claim
A star through drifting smoke of praise and blame
The toilers` beacon, still to re-appear
With spring-tide hopes new quickening year by year
Since bright in Freedom's dawn the COMMUNE came
Maligned, betrayed, short-lived to act and teach
Whose blood lies still upon the hands that slew
E'en now, when Labour knocks upon the gate
That shuts on Privilege, He thinks of you
And what men dared and suffered, and their fate
Who ruled a City, once, for all and each
 
52. He is my brother (by Antoni Slonimski)
This man, who his own fatherland forgets
When of the shedding of Czech blood he hears

Who, as a brother feels for Yugoslavia
Who in the pain of Norway`s people shares
Who with the Jewish mother wrings his hands
In grief and bends with her above her slain
Who Russian is, when Russia falls and bleeds
And with Ukrainian weeps for the Ukraine
This man, with heart to all compassionate
French, when France suffers in captivity
Greek, when Greeks in cold and hunger perish
He is my brother -man. He is Humanity
 
53. To Nearly Everybody in Europe Today (by Hugh MacDiarmid)
A war to save civilization, you say
Then what have you to do with it, pray
Some attempt to acquire it would show truer love
Than fighting for something you know nothing of
 
54. Honour to Labour (by Ferdinand Freiligrath)
He who swings a mighty hammer
He who reaps a field of corn
He who breaks the marshy meadow
To provide for wife, for children
He who rows against the current
He who weary at the loom
Weaves with wool and tow and flax
That his fair-haired young may flourish
Honour that man, praise the worker
Honour every callous hand
Honour every drop of sweat
That is shed in mill and foundry
Honour every dripping forehead
At the plough. And let that man
Who with mind and spirit's labour
Hungering ploughs be not forgotten
 
55. Never Give Up (Northern Star, February 22 1845)
NEVER give up! It is wiser and better
Always to hope than once to despair
Fling off the load of Doubt's cankering fetter
And break the dark spell of tyrannical care
Never give up! or the burden may sink you
Providence kindly has mingled the cup
And, in all trials or troubles, bethink you
The watchword of life must be,
Never give up
Never give up!
There are chances and changes
Helping the hopeful a hundred to one
And through the chaos High Wisdom arranges
Ever success -if you'll only hope on
Never give up! For the wildest is boldest
Knowing that Providence mingles the cup
And of all maxims the best, as the oldest
Is the watchword of Never give up
Never give up! - tho' the grape-shot may rattle
Or the full thunder-cloud over you burst
Stand like a rock,-and the storm or the battle
Little shall harm you, though doing their worst
Never give up! if adversity presses
Providence wisely has mingled the cup
And the best counsel, in all your distresses
Is the stout watchword of Never give up!
 
56. The United Fruit Co. Pablo Neruda
When the trumpet sounded, it was all prepared on the earth
the Jehovah parcelled out the earth
to Coca Cola, Inc., Anaconda, 
Ford Motors, and other entities
The Fruit Company, Inc.
reserved for itself the most succulent
the central coast of my own land
the delicate waist of America
It rechristened its territories
as the `Banana Republics`
and over the sleeping dead
over the restless heroes
who brought about the greatness
the liberty and the flags
it established the comic opera
abolished the independencies
presented crowns of Caesaruns
heathed envy, attracted
the dictatorship of the flies
Trujillo flies, Tacho flies
Carias flies, Martines flies
Ubico flies, damp flies
of modest blood and marmalade
drunken flies who zoom
over the ordinary graves
circus flies, wise flies
well trained in tyranny
Among the blood-thirsty flies
the Fruit Company lands its ships
taking off the coffee and the fruit
the treasure of our submerged
territories flow as though
on plates into the ships
Meanwhile Indians are falling
into the sugared chasms
of the harbours, wrapped
for burials in the mist of the dawn
a body rolls, a thing
that has no name, a fallen cipher
a cluster of the dead fruit
thrown down on the dump
 
57. Eat More (by Joe Corrie)
'Eat more fruit!' the slogans say
'More fish, more beef, more bread'
But I'm on Unemployment pay
My third year now, and wed
And so I wonder when I'll see
The slogan when I pass
The only one that would suit me
'Eat More Bloody Grass!'

58. I Am The Common Man (by Joe Corrie)
I am the Common Man
I am the brute and the slave
I am the fool, the despised
From the cradle to the grave
I am the hewer of coal
I am the tiller of soil
I am serf of the seas
Born to bear and to toil
I am the builder of halls
I am the dweller of slums
I am the filfth and the scourge
When winter's depression comes
I am the fighter of wars
I am the killer of men
Not for a day or an age
But again and again and again
I am the Common Man
But Masters of mine take heed

For you have put into my head
Oh many a wicked deed
 
59. How few there are... (by Joe Corrie)
How few there are with unsoiled hands
And educated tongues
Who'll stand by us, my working friends
And help to right our wrongs
They go a certain length with us
But faint of heart return
When we meet someone with a cross
Bearing a crown of thorn
 
59a. Party Card (by Yevgeny Yevtushenko)

A SHOT-UP forest full of black holes
Mind-crushing explosions
He wants some berries, he wants some berries
the young lieutenant, lying in his blood
I was a smallish boy
who crawled in the long grass till it was dark
and brought him back a cap of strawberries
and when they came there was no use for them
the rain of July lightly falling
He was lying in remoteness and silence
among the ruined tanks and the dead
The rain glistened on his eyelashes
There were sadness and worry in his eyes
I waited saying nothing and soaking
like waiting for an answer to something
he couldn't answer. Passionate with silence
unable to see when he asked me
I took his party card from his pocket
And small and tired and without understanding
wandering in the flushed and smoking dark
met up with refugees moving east
and somehow through the terribly flashing night
we travelled without tickets, the priest
with his long grey hair and his rucksack
and me and a sailor with a wounded arm
Child crying. Horse whinnying
And answered to with love and with courage
and white, white, the bell-towers rang out
speaking to Russia with a tocsin voice
Wheat fields blackened round their villages
In the woman's coat I wore at that time
I felt for the party card close to my heart
 
60. Manifesto (by Victor Jara)
I don't sing for love of singing
or to show off my voice
but for the statements
made by my honest guitar
for its heart is of the earth
and like the dove it goes flying....
endlessly as holy water
blessing the brave and the dying
so my song has found a purpose
as Violet Parra would say
Yes, my guitar is a worker
shining and smelling of spring
my guitar is not for killers
greedy for money and power
but for the people who labour
so that the future may flower
For a song takes on a meaning
when its own heart beat is strong
sung by a man who will die singing
truthfully singing his song
I don't care for adulation
or so that strangers may weep.
I sing for a far strip of country
narrow but endlessly deep

61. Prayer to a Labourer (by Victor Jara)
Stand upLook at the mountain
Source of the wind, the sun, the water
You who change the course of rivers
Who with the seed sows the flight of your soul
Stand upLook at your hands
Take your brother's hand
So you can grow
We'll go together, united by blood
The future can begin today
Deliver us from the master who keeps us in misery
Thy kingdom of justice and equality come
Blow, like the wind blows
the wild flower of the mountain pass
Clean the barrel of my gun like fire
Stand up
Look at your hands
Take your brother's hand so you can grow
We'll go together, united by blood
Now and in the hour of our death. Amen
 
62. Chile Stadium (by Victor Jara, between 12-15 September 1973, just before he was murdered by the Pinochet regime)
There are five thousand of us here
in this little part of the city
We are five thousand
I wonder how many we are in all
In the cities and in the whole country
Here alone
are ten thousand hands which plant seeds
and make the factories run
How much humanity
exposed to hunger, cold, panic, pain
moral pressures, terror and insanity
Six of us were lost as if into starry space
One dead, another beaten as I could never
have believed a human being could be beaten
The other four wanted to end their terror
one jumping into nothingness
another beating his head against a wall
but all with the fixed look of death
What horror the face of fascism creates
They carry out their plans with
knife-like precision
Nothing matters to them
For them blood equals medals
slaughter is an act of heroism
Oh God, is this the world that you created
For this, your seven days of wonder and work
Within these four walls only a number exists
which does not progress
Which slowly will wish more and more for death.
But suddenly my conscience awakes
and I see this tide with no heartbeat
only the pulse of machines
and the military showing their midwives' faces
full of sweetness
Let Mexico, Cuba and the world
cry out against this atrocity
We are ten thousand hands which can produce nothing
How many of us in the whole country
The blood of our companero Presidente
will strike with more strength than bombsand machine guns
So will our fist strike again
How hard it is to sing
When I sing a song of horrorHorror which I am living
Horror which I am dying
To see myself among so muchand so many moments of infinity

in which silence and screams
are the end of my songWhat I see I have never seen
What I have felt and what I feel
will give birth to the moment......

63. What is a Peer? (Northern Star,7 May 1842)
What is a peer? A useless thing
A costly toy, to please a king
A bauble near a throne
A lump of animated clay
A gaudy pageant of a day
An incubus; a drone!
What is a peer? A nation's curse
A pauper on the public purse
Corruption's own jackal
A haughty, domineering blade
A cuckold at a masquerade
A dandy at a ball
Ye butterflies, whom kings create
Ye caterpillars of the state
Now that your time is near!
This moral learn from nature's plan
That in creation God made man
But never made a peer
 
64. The Socialist A.B.C. (by Alex Glasgow)
When that I was a little tiny boy
Me daddy said to me'The time has come, me bonny, bonny bairn
To learn your ABC'
Now daddy was a Lodge Chairman
In the coalfields of the Tyne
And that ABC was different
From the Enid Blyton kind
He sang
A is for Alienation that made me the man that I am
and B's for the Boss who's a bastard, a bourgeois who don't give a damn
C is for Capitalism, the boss's reactionary creed
and D's for Dictatorship, laddie, but the best proletarian breed
E is for Exploitation, that the workers have suffered so long
and F is for old Ludwig Feuerbach, the first one to see it was
wrong
G is for all Gerrymanderers, like Lord Muck and Sir Whatsisname
and H is the Hell that they'll go to, when the workers have
kindled the flame
I is for Imperialism, and America's kind is the worst
and J is for sweet Jingoism, that the Tories all think of first
K is for good old Keir Hardie, who fought out the working classfight
and L is for Vladimir Lenin, who showed him the Left was all right
M is of course for Karl Marx, the daddy and the mammy of them all
and N is for Nationalisation, without it we'd crumble and fall
O is for Overproduction that capitalist economy brings
and P is for Private Property, the greatest of all of the sins
Q is for the Quid pro quo, that we'll deal out so well and so soon
when R for Revolution is shouted and the Red Flag becomes the
top tune
S is for sad Stalinism, that gave us all such a bad name
and T is for Trotsky the hero, who had to take all of the blame
U's for the Union of workers, the Union will stand to the end
and V is for Vodka, yes, Vodka, the one drink that don't bringthe bends
W is for all Willing workers, and that's where the memory fades
for X, Y and Z, me dear daddy said, will be written on the street
barricades
But now that I'm not a little tiny boy
Me daddy says to me
Please try to forget the things I said

Especially the ABCFor daddy's no longer a Union man
And he's had to change his plea
His alphabet is different now
Since they made him a Labour MP
 
65. History (by J.R. Jump)
History is more than the cobbled streets of the past
History is more than cathedrals and castles
more than triumphal arches in Rome, Paris or Madrid
History is more than churches and mosques
more than the crosses and statues of Christ
that crowns so many Spanish hills
History is people
History is the students demonstrating
the ecologists striving to protectthe human race
History is at the heart of every popular movement
the Levellers, the Chartists, the Popular Front
the women at Greenham Common and the liberation theologists
History is people
 
66. Communist May Day Demonstration in Madrid, 1985 (by J.R. Jump)
Red are the flapping banners
fluttering red the flags
Pulsating red the aspirations
of the people on paradered hope of the mothers for their toddling children
red hope for the vociferous students
who stride beside limping veterans of the Civil War
A people united will never be defeated!
they shout
but the socialists are not here with us
They have their own demonstration
where they, too, shout
A people united will never be defeated
but they march along a different route
 
67. Going Cheap (by Benjamin Zephaniah)
A dollar head shouts BuyA pound head shouts Sell
A shopkeeper's shouting Capitalism will eat itself
A prophet's asking When
A caring father on the futures market has just condemned
A family on the West Coast of Africa to five years hard labour.
A speculator called that a result
Now here's a New World order... Large Burger and fries please
It's business as usual
Earthquakes cost moneyDams damn the needy
And Palestinians don't count
Now here's a New World order...
One oriental woman
Supermodel skinny
With Blonde Black girl bottom
Surgically modified nose
And genetically modified shit
It's the economy stupidIt's business as usual

68. An Ode to a Committee
Oh give me your pity, I'm on a committee
which means that from morning to night
we attend and amend, and contend and defend
without a conclusion in sight
We confer and concur, we defer and demur
and reiterate all of our thoughts
we revise the agenda with frequent addenda
and consider a load of reports
We compose and propose, we support and oppose
and points of procedure are fun
but though various notions are brought up as motions
there's still very little gets done
We resolve and absolve, but never dissolve
since that's out of the question for us
What a shattering pity to end our committee
for where else could we make such a fuss
 
69. To Working Men of Every Clime (Northern Star, 28 November 1840)

Working Men of every clime
Gather still, but bide your time
Bide your time, and wait a wee
Yours will be the victory
Britain's sons, whose constant toil
Plies the looms and tills the soil
Lift the voice for liberty
Yours will be the victory
Toil-worn sons of Spain advance
Give the hand to those of France
Join you both with Italy
Yours will be the victory
Serfs of Poland, gather near
Raise, with Austria's sons, the cheer
Echoed far through Germany
Yours will be the victory
Danish workmen, hear the cry
Scandinavia's quick reply
Workmen, `panting to be free
Yours will be the victory
Dutchmen, linger not behind
Working men should be combined
Russian slaves themselves will see
Yours will be the victory
Europe's workmen, one and all
Rouse ye at your brethren's call
Shouting loud from sea to sea
Yours will be the victory
Kings and nobles may conspire
God will pour on them his ire
Workmen shout, for ye are free
Yours is now the victory