Father’s got a job

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Father's got a job

The chord of discontent once sounded in our domicile
And on the family physog you scarce could see a smile
Because a nasty rumour went around with such a vim
It was that Father would not work, and everybody worked but him
When Father heard the rumour, how bitterly he swore
He'd sit beside the fire for hours, and cuss and sleep and snore
His friends came to his rescue, and it made his poor heart throb
Before he could defend himself, they got poor Dad a job.

Mother's delighted, sister is glad
Everybody's happy now but poor old Dad
He's got a job of work at last. It's time that he began
He cannot shirk, he's got to work, has our old man.

Our friends and neighbours sympathise with poor old Father so
They formed a Willing Worker's Club to keep him on the go
Poor Dad got sick and would not take the pills Ma bought so cheap
Because he saw upon the box 'We work while you're asleep'
The butcher and the baker, and everyone Dad owed
All joined the Club to find Dad jobs, such loyalty they showed
They set him sweeping out a bank. He worked on such a scale
He swept the safe, as well as floor, so now Dad works in jail.

The Willing Worker's Club worked hard to keep poor dad in jail
But there they worked the old man so, that he grew thin and pale
His friends they found a home for him where he'd grow good and strong
That he might live to fill the job they'd hunted up for him so long
The place, which they had found, was called the home for working men
When Father saw the name, he said 'That's back to jail again'
One Sunday Father went to church. This hymn the preacher read
'Work for the night is coming on' and poor old Dad dropped dead.