The Factory Girl

1. No more shall I work in the fact’ry
To greasy up my clothes,
No more shall I work in the fact’ry
With splinters in my toes.

CHORUS: 
Pity me, my darling,
Pity me, I say,
Pity me, my darling,
And carry me away.

2. No more shall I hear those bosses say
“Boys, you’d better doff.”
No more shall I hear those bosses say
“Spinners, you had better clean off.”

3. No more shall I hear the drummer wheels
A-rolling over my head;
When factory girls are hard at work,
I’ll be in my bed.

4. No more shall I hear the whistle blow,
To call me up so soon:
No more shall I hear the whistle blow
To call me from my home.

5. No more shall I see the super come,
All dressed up so fine:
For I know I’ll marry a country boy
Before the year is round.

6. No more shall I wear the old black dress,
Greasy all around;
No more shall I wear the old black bonnet,
With holes all in the crown.