Song Of The Times Lyrics - Chumbawamba

You working men of England, one moment now attend 

While I unfold the treatment of the poor upon this land 

For nowadays the factory lords have brought the labor low 

And daily are contriving plans to prove our overthrow 

So arouse you sons of freedom, the world seems upside down 

They scorn the poor man as a thief in country and in town 

There's different parts in Ireland, it's true what I do state 

There's hundreds that are starving for they can't get food to eat 

And if they go unto the rich to ask them for relief 

They bang their door all in their face as if they were a thief 

So arouse you sons of freedom the world seems upside down 

They scorn the poor man as a thief in country and in town 

Alas how altered are the times, rich men despise the poor 

And pay them off without remorse quite scornful at their door 

And if a man is out of work, his Parish pay is small 

Enough to starve himself and wife, his children and all 

So arouse you sons of freedom the world seems upside down 

They scorn the poor man as a thief in country and in town 

So to conclude and finish these few verses I have made 

I hope to see before it's long men for their labor paid 

Then we'll rejoice with heart and voice and banish all our woes 

Before we do old England must pay us what she owes 

So arouse you sons of freedom the world seems upside down 

They scorn the poor man as a thief in country and in town