Fiscal Ballads

Fiscal Ballads
Harry Graham

Graham Harry

Fiscal Ballads

FOREWORD

I'm only a common workin'-man,
With a eye to my vittles an' beer,
But afore I puts my money on Joe,
There's a thing or two as I'd like to know,
Which 'e 'asn't a-made quite clear.

I admit as it sounds attractive-like
For to shut them furriners out,
But every Board School nipper knows
As there's things wot only a furriner grows
As we couldn't well do without.

There's sugar, an' rice, an' cocoa-nibs,
There's cawfy an' tea as well,
As we never could raise, suppose we tried,
And we 'as to buy 'em somewheres outside,
And the furriners 'as to sell.

But they don't give nothin' for nothink —
Which you can't dispute the fac' —
An' we're sending 'em hevery bit as much
Of our cotton-goods, an' our coal, an' such,
As 'll pay the beggars back.

An' the less we buys o' them furrin goods,
The less of our own's returned;
Which it's plain to see as the more they take,
The more our firms 'as a chance to make,
An' the 'igher the wages earned.

For it's British Labour as pays the price
O' them goods as crosses the sea,
An' suppose as the furrin imports fail,
It's the case of a empty dinner-pail
For the workin'-man like me.

Let the furriner send 'is foodstuffs in —
Lor' bless you, I ain't afraid!
For the more we markets with other lands,
The more employment for British 'ands,
An' the better for British trade!

I 'asn't no love for the German man,
Nor yet for the 'eathen Turk,
But I ain't a fool as 'll shut the door
In the face of even a blooming Boer,
If the beggar can give me work.

For it's work I wants, an' it's wages too,
An' I'm lookin' afore I leap;
I won't go chucking a job away,
On the chance of a possible rise o' pay,
While food's to be 'ad so cheap.

I'm only a workin' artisan,
But the truth I'd like to know;
I ain't for takin' no risks, myself,
Of a empty grate an' a empty shelf —
No, thanks, sir, not for Joe!

'E says as 'e'll 'sweep the Country'!
And 'e'll do it too, maybe;
If the workin'-men don't 'ave a care,
They'll find as there ain't no Country there,
When 'e's swep' it – into the sea!

PROTECTION

I've got the dumpophobia bad,
As is easy for to see;
(When a little lad I was bit by a mad
Manufacturin' man, maybe!)
An' I simply goes clean off my chump
If anyone 'appens to mention 'dump.'

For it's 'Out wi' they furriner folks!' sez I;
Will we take it 'lying down,'
When they dumps cheap goods (as we wants to buy)
Into every British town?
(Tho' per'aps it's a thing as they wouldn't do
If we 'adn't a-given 'em orders to!)

But there's good times coming, an' thanks to Joe,
When the Hempire 'll stand on 'er own;
We'll be quit o' the food them furriners grow,
An' rely on ourselves alone.
For us, an' the Colonies too, I lay,
Can grow it as good an' better'n they!

We're a British race, an' we'll soon depend
On the produc's o' British soil;