Prison Rhymes 5: Riveteers

In a tenement in Govan,
Jimmie Bashthemin was bred;
In conflict with the pavement,
Hard and knobby grew his head.
At school he was a marvel
At forgetting what was taught:
But his muscles grew in toughness
In the battles that he fought.

School days over, Jimmie wended
To a shipyard on the Clyde.
Where the gentle art of rivetting
He learned to ply with pride.
"Two after three," “One after two,'
Buck up that ruddy “boy”;
His language, as his rivets, red
The air around did dye.

Jimmie’s country went to war,
But Jimmie kept on working,
And growled at non-essential men
For soldier duties shirking.
He served his country good and well,
And lifted mighty wages;
And cursed and swore, and swot like Hell
O'er Northclife's picture pages.

One morning at the shipyard gate
His mates, in great elation,
Told Jim he was the final hope
And backbone of the nation.
Our fate depended now, 'twas said,
On who could hammer quickest,
As victory in war must go
To those whose heads are thickest.