James Keelaghan - My old man

My old ^Gman was a ^Cgood old man Skilled in the moulding ^Gtrade In the stinking heat of the ^Firon ^Cfoundry ^FMy old man was ^Gmade ^FDown on his ^Gknees in the ^Cmoulding sand He ^Fwore his trade like a ^Gcompany brand He was ^Fone of the Cyclops' ^Csmoky band Yes, ^Fthat was ^Gmy old ^Cman ^{F G C}

My old ^Gman wasn't ^Creally old It's just that I was ^Gyoung And anyone o'er ^Ftwelve years ^Cold Was ^Fhalfway to the ^Gtomb He was ^Floyal to his ^Gworkmates ^Call his life Gave ^Fover his pay-pack ^Gto his wife He'd ^Fhave a few jars on a ^CSaturday night Yes, ^Fthat was ^Gmy old ^Cman ^{F G C}

My old ^Gman was a ^Cunion man Worked hard all his ^Gdays He ^Cunderstood the ^Fsystem And was wise to the boss' ^Gways He ^Fsaid, "If you ^Gwant what's ^Cyours by right You'll ^Fhave to struggle with ^Gall your might They'll ^Frob you blind if ^Cyou don't fight them" ^FThat was ^Gmy old ^Cman ^{F G C}

My old ^Gman was a ^Cproud old man At home on the foundry ^Gfloor Until the day they ^Flaid him ^Coff And ^Fshowed him out the ^Gdoor They ^Fgave him his ^Gcard, said, "^CTimes are slack, We ^Ffound a machine that ^Ghas the knack Of ^Fdoing your job, so ^Cdon't come back" The ^Fend of ^Gmy old ^Cman

My old ^Gman was ^Cfifty-one What was he to ^Gdo? A moulding craftsman ^Fon the ^Cdole In ^Fnineteen fifty-^Gtwo He ^Ffelt he'd ^Ggiven ^Call he could give So he ^Fdid what thousands of ^Gothers did He a^Fbandoned hope and the ^Cwill to live They ^Fkilled him, ^Gmy old ^Cman ^{F G C}

My old ^Gman he is ^Cdead and gone And I am your old ^Gman And my advice to ^Fyou, my ^Cchild Is to ^Ffight back while you ^Gcan Be^Fware the ^Gman with the ^Csilicon chip Hold ^Fon to your job with a ^Ggood firm grip 'Cause ^Fif you don't, you've ^Ccashed your chips The ^Fsame as ^Gmy old ^Cman 'Cause ^Fif you don't, you've ^Ccashed your chips The ^Fsame as ^Gmy old ^Cman ^{F G C}