From the 1913 musical “The Tik-Tok Man of Oz.”
Words by L. Frank Baum.
Music by Louis F. Gottschalk.
The sheet music:
Accompaniment by James Pitt-Payne:
Lyrics
- Work, lads, work
Don’t let me catch you lagging
Work, lads, work
With spirit never flagging
You’ve got a lot of things to do
Before you quit, I promise you
There’ll be no rest till you are through
So work, lads, work
So work, lads, work
We’re making spirit cabinets
To fool the human race
And muzzles for your moth’r-in-law
To wear upon her face
Our thirst producers are so fine
We cannot make enough
Our corset steels and French high heels
To torture are the stuff
Work, lads, work
You’ve got to keep a going
Work, lads, work
And set the forges glowing
Our orders you must promptly fill
Because our products fill the bill
So heave your hammers with a will
And work, lads, work
So heave your hammers with a will
And work, lads, work
We will work because we must
Raining mighty blows and just
Bellows blowing, forges glowing
Labor is the common lot
We are hardy, sturdy, bold
Beating out the gleaming gold
Sparks a flying, fire defying
Striking while the metal’s hot
So heave your hammers with a will
And work, lads, work, rah - Work, lads, work
For vengeance and for glory
Work, lads, work
Each blow will tell its story
We’ll forge the shackles for mankind
Whose lust for metal makes ’em blind
Their fate is in our net entwined
So work, lads, work
So work, lads, work
He’s known to be a wicked King
And foe to human kind
No one so very wicked
In this universe you’ll find
From love and sentiment he turns
To strive for hate alone
His conscience never troubles him
So wicked has he grown
Strike, lads, smite
The gold so cold and yielding
Clash and crash
Your hammers nobly wielding
And let your anvils sing the song
Of all our staunch and mighty throng
The profits all to me belong
So smite, lads, smite
The profits all to me belong
So smite, lads, smite
We will work because we must
Raining mighty blows and just
Bellows blowing, forges glowing
Labor is the common lot
We are hardy, sturdy, bold
Beating out the gleaming gold
Sparks a flying, fire defying
Striking while the metal’s hot
The profits all to me belong
So smite, lads, smite, rah
Sung here by Vancha March: