Charlie King


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My job makes me crazy; I’m always behind

Even though I’m not one to shirk

And some fuzzy folksinger repeats in my mind

That my life should be more than my work


Well, I like the work that I do

I don’t mind earning my pay

But there is so much to do when the workday is through

Bring back the eight-hour day


Say you work at a white collar job
You get paid at a fixed monthly rate
But you come in for meetings a half hour early
You're working a full hour late

Then you sit for an hour in traffic
With the rest of the overtime drones
There's a latchkey kid you must chase off to bed
Before* you eat a cold supper alone

Oh . . .


Bring back the eight hour day
When did we give it away?
There's so much to do when the work day is through
Bring back the eight hour day.


There is a factory worker we know

Joe Hill called him Mr. Block

If the foreman forgot him he’d work ‘til he drop

And he’d never punch out on the clock


Now they lay off ten workers a week

Some are working half-time with no frills

Mr Block doesn’t care, he’s got money to spare

Let the rest of the world go to hell

Well, did you know that the workers in Flint

Went on strike to climb out of this hole

Where half the town works 60 hours a week

While the other half rots on the dole?


What good is a double-time check

When your town and your family is shot?

We need some enjoyment; We want full employment

We will not be bullied or bought

We say . . .




When I was a kid mom stayed home

And we lived on dad’s blue-collar pay

Our standard of living was decent and sweet

Just as good as what I’ve got today


Now my wife has a good-paying job

And me, well I’m doing OK

But we’re putting out 99 hours a week

Tell me who the hell’s getting my pay

Hey . . .




They've got cellular phones for your car
They've got notebook PC's for your lap
If you crawl off to sleep you stay close to your beeper
Now why do we stand for that crap?
They tell you you’ve got to compete
No, we're tired from footing the bill
Eight hours for work, eight hours for rest
And eight hours for what we will.


A 110 years ago, in Chicago in Haymarket Square

They gathered from shipyards

From mine and from mill just to march

In the sun and the air


They’ve been slaving from dawn until dusk

But not on the first of May

‘Cause you can’t smell the flowers

When you’re working 12 hours

So they struck for an eight hour day,

Hey . . .


Bring back that eight hour day

Bring back the five-day week
When did we give it away?

How did it become an antique?

I like the work that I do

I don’t mind earning my pay
But there's so much to do
When the work day is through
Bring back the eight hour day!

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