Written by Peter Hicks and Geoff Francis
The hours are long and the work exhausting,
Seven days cramped at the bench each week;
Your body's tired and your eyes are aching,
You're barely paid enough to eat.
You don't have rights and there aren't no unions,
Don't slow down or you'll get the sack;
You'll be out in the streets, on your own and hungry
Where you can't look forward and you daren't look back.
Eight bucks ain't much, but it's better than starving,
Or selling your body at the U.S. base;
It's the way things are in the new world order,
Filipino woman, know your place.
It's dark in there, where it's hot and steaming,
The machines are old, the machines aren't safe;
One mistake you could lose your fingers,
There's more outside who can take your place.
You sleep in a cell up above the workshop,
Thirteen bunks to each crowded room;
It's hot at night and the air hangs heavy,
As long as you're working you can call it home.
Eight bucks ain't much, but it's better than starving,
Or selling your body at the U.S. base;
It's the way things are in the new world order,
Filipino woman, know your place.
One spark of fire and the building's blazing,
Thirteen women are trapped inside;
Thirteen bodies are burnt like charcoal,
Thirteen workers, thirteen die.
From the ashes they build another death trap,
The insurance covers the cost of fire;
While the thirteen women are soon forgotten,
There ain't no value in thirteen lives.
Eight bucks ain't much, but it's better than starving,
Or selling your body at the U.S. base;
It's the way things are in the new world order,
Filipino woman, know your place.
Seven days cramped at the bench each week;
Your body's tired and your eyes are aching,
You're barely paid enough to eat.
You don't have rights and there aren't no unions,
Don't slow down or you'll get the sack;
You'll be out in the streets, on your own and hungry
Where you can't look forward and you daren't look back.
Eight bucks ain't much, but it's better than starving,
Or selling your body at the U.S. base;
It's the way things are in the new world order,
Filipino woman, know your place.
It's dark in there, where it's hot and steaming,
The machines are old, the machines aren't safe;
One mistake you could lose your fingers,
There's more outside who can take your place.
You sleep in a cell up above the workshop,
Thirteen bunks to each crowded room;
It's hot at night and the air hangs heavy,
As long as you're working you can call it home.
Eight bucks ain't much, but it's better than starving,
Or selling your body at the U.S. base;
It's the way things are in the new world order,
Filipino woman, know your place.
One spark of fire and the building's blazing,
Thirteen women are trapped inside;
Thirteen bodies are burnt like charcoal,
Thirteen workers, thirteen die.
From the ashes they build another death trap,
The insurance covers the cost of fire;
While the thirteen women are soon forgotten,
There ain't no value in thirteen lives.
Eight bucks ain't much, but it's better than starving,
Or selling your body at the U.S. base;
It's the way things are in the new world order,
Filipino woman, know your place.
envoyé par Marcia - 25/6/2008 - 09:55
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