Digital Tradition Mirror

Babies in the Mill

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Babies in the Mill
  by Dorsey Dixon

I used to be a factory hand when things were moving slow
When children worked in cotton mills, each morning had to go
Every morning just at five the whistle blew on time
And called them babies out of bed at the age of eight and nine

  Come out of bed, little sleepy head
  And get you a bite to eat
  The factory whistle's calling you
  There's no more time to sleep

The children all grew up unlearned, they never went to school,
They never learned to read or write, but they learned to spin and
Every time I close my eyes, I see that picture still,
When textile work was carried on with babies in the mill.


To their jobs those little ones were strictly forced to go,
Those babies had to be on time through rain and sleet and snow,
Many times when things went wrong their bosses often frowned,
Many times those little ones was kicked and shoved around.


Old Timer can't you see that scene, that though the years go by
Those babies all went on the job, the same as you and I
I know you're glad that things have changed, and we have lots of
As we go in and do the jobs that babies used to run


Copyright Dorsey Dixon Estate
printed in Here's to the women

Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!

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