  We condemn, as selfish slackers, Those not willing to enlist To oppose the Prussian Kultur And the Kaiser's iron fist, But they're not the only slackers, Those who will not go and fight. For every man's a slacker Who does less now than he might. There are slackers in the pulpit, In the elder's cushioned pew, And all through the congregation There are slackers not a few. There are slackers in the workshop, There are slackers on the farm, And slackers down in Parliament Whose defeat would do no harm. Some munition men are slackers, And some who store our food. While they dream of higher profits And of interest accrued. And we say his heart's not right, But there's many an arrant slacker Not eligible to fight. So let each and all get busy, If we would the Kaiser thrash. From the man who owns the millions To the girl who slings the hash, All the women busy knitting, All the men out hoeing beans, For the war may be decided By the work behind the scenes. |
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