Song Of The Lower Classes

   F#m        E       C#m    F#m                        C#m  F#m We plough and sow, we are so low, that we delve in the dirty clay,         F#m       E          C#m     F#m                        C#m     F#m ‘Til we bless the plain with golden grain and the vale with the fragrant hay.      A       E             F#m     D         Bm         C#m Our place we know we are so low, down at the landlord’s feet.       D       E       F#m      C#m                 D       C#m     F#m We’re not too low the bread to grow....... but too low the bread to eat.       F#m        E       C#m    F#m              C#m     F#m We’re low, we’re low, we are so low yet from our fingers glide       F#m                E          C#m            F#m        C#m    F#m Thee silken flow and the robes that glow round the limbs of the sons of pride     A      E             F#m     D           Bm       C#m And what we get and what we give we know and we know our share:       D       E       F#m      C#m                 D      C#m      F#m           We're not too low the cloth to weave...... but too low the cloth to wear.      F#m     E      C#m    F#m                     C#m      F#m Down down we go, we are so low, to the hell of the deep-sunk mine,        F#m        E               C#m           F#m          C#m     F#m But we gather the proudest gems that glow when the crown of the despot shine      A      E            F#m       D       Bm       C#m Whenever he lacks upon our backs fresh loads he deigns to lay.       D       E      F#m      C#m              D      C#m   F#m We’re far too low to vote the tax......... but not too low to pay.       F#m        E        C#m    F#m               C#m     F#m We’re low, we’re low as to war we go to fight some foreign country          F#m     E     C#m      F#m                C#m    F#m That was yesterday our greatest friend, but today’s our enemy.      A         E                 F#m      D        Bm        C#m “God bless our boys!” the papers scream, “Praise them!” the churchmen cry.          D      E       F#m    C#m             D           C#m    F#m When the war is won and home we come, ......who cares if we live or die?       F#m      E        C#m     F#m                    C#m   F#m We’re low, so low, into boats we go to flee war in our home country,           F#m    E      C#m   F#m                C#m       F#m And we’ll try to make a better life when we land across the sea.           A         E                   F#m    D             Bm   C#m But it’s “Send them back!” the press cries out, “Back to where they came!”       D       E      F#m      C#m                D       C#m    F#m We’re far too low to feed and clothe ........but not too low to blame.    F#m    E       C#m     F#m                    C#m  F#m We are so low but soon we know that the low folk will arise,     F#m E             C#m     F#m                   C#m      F#m And the tyrants in their tow’rs of gold shall hear the people’s cries!    A          E          F#m     D                 Bm   C#m No more shall they hold us in thrall; their lies we will not heed.     D     E           F#m      C#m                D          C#m   F#m But every heart shall hear the call,..... and the people will be free!