This is where mine bosses sent their hunkies
Down the tunnel before first light. Men
Long dead and burried out in the township cemetery
Died before they grew old enough to forget
The taste of the cane they got as breaker boys,
Moving too slowly to make J.P. Morgan richer faster.
Everybody came from somewhere else.
First it was the Irish, who stoned the Slavs
Recruited to keep wages down. The Italians
Found the Klan didn't cotton to another set
Of funny-speaking papists. Micks, and Polacks.
Greasy wops. No one in New York
Knew their names.
There is safety and choas in numbers.
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