‘Bosses Don’T Seem Right’ - a Christmas Monologue
The thing’s all wrong (I sez to 'im)
Now look, there’s this 'ere Monday, Jim,
Comes before Christmas. Be a toff
An’ lest us 'ave the Monday off.
‘E 'ums an’ 'ars. An’ then he’s got
To talk a lot of silly rot
Abut 'ow business binds a man;
An’ 'e don’t quite see 'ow 'e can
Afford to give me Monday in,
Seein’ he’ll lose a lot of tin
Under our capit’listic plan
Which sort of binds a business man
‘Lest his competitors was bound
To give the Monday all around.
If but ('e sez) they would agree
To let the trade 'ave Monday free
Then 'e would do it. There you are!
Shows 'ow Democracy’s a bar.
It’s competition, don’t you see,
That robs a man of liberty.
But, under Socialism . . . Wot?
Now, listen, I ain’t talkin’ rot.
I know that 'e’s me boss. But look,
Our scheme of Gover’ment’s all crook.
Now, under Socialism, see,
If I said, ‘I want Monday free!’
Why, under right conditions, then,
They’d treat their men like they was men;
An’ seein’ it was Christmas week,
We would n’t 'ave to go an’ seek
No favors. We’d just tell 'em flat:
‘We’re takin’ Monday; an’ that’s that!’
Wot? Bosses? . . . Well, I s’pose there’d be
This, wot you call, Bureaucracy.
To rule us. Yes; per’aps there might;
An’ as you say, it don’t seem right
That they should want to boss a man . . . .
But wot about his Fascist plan?
Now, under that, we’d say, ‘look ’ere
Us fellers wants this Monday clear.’
An’, bein’ reasonable like,
Blokes would n’t 'ave to call a strike
To get their way . . . . Well, I suppose
There’s be Dictators - coves like those
To fed a coot on castor oil
If they decided not to toil
On Monday. That seems pretty tough,
All systems seems to treat men rough.
