I'm a, I'm a, I'm a, I'm a chimney sweeping man. You see the black lines. On the backs, on the backs of my hands. . I planted all the gardens. I sent off all the hand-typed letters to the empty shells on high.
I will not have a child, I will be wild. And not produce meat for your slaughter. No more cannon fodder. . Company whip cracks at the break of dawn. Back break work the whole day long.