Communist children in the Glasgow Proletarian
Schools, with the refrain:--

"Class-conscious we are singing,
Class-conscious all are we,
For Labour now is digging
The grave of the Boorzh-waw-ze."

The metre is a bit jumpy, and so are the ideas, but you know what
folk-songs are.]

Look, we are digging a large round hole,
_With a Hey and a Ho and a Hee-haw-hee!_
To put the abominable tyrant in--
The Minister, the Master, the Mandarin;
And never a bloom above shall blow
But scarlet-runners in a row to show
_That this is the grave of the Boorzh-waw-ze,
With a Hi-ti-tiddle-i! ... Honk, honk!_

Who do we put in the large round hole,
_With a Hey and a Ho and a Hee-haw-hee?_
The blackcoat, the parasite, the keeper of the laws,
Who works with his head instead of with his paws;
The doctor, the parson, the pressman, the mayor,
The poet and the barrister, they'll all be there,
_Snug in the grave of the Boorzh-waw-ze,
With a Hi-ti-tiddle-i! ... Honk, honk!_

Dig, dig, dig, it will have to be big,
_With a Hey and a Ho and a Hee-haw-hee!_
One great cavity, and then one more
For the bones of the SECRET'RY OF STATE FOR WAR;
The editor, the clerk and, of course, old THOMAS,
We wring their necks and we fling them from us
_Into the grave of the Boorzh-waw-ze,
With a Hi-ti-tiddle-i! ... Honk, honk!_

Peace and Brotherhood, that's our line,
_With a Hey and a Ho and a Hee-haw-hee!_
But nobody, of course, can co-exist
In the same small planet with a Communist;
Man is a brotherhood, that we know,
And the whole damn family has got to go
_Plomp in the grave of the Boorzh-waw-ze,
With a Hi-ti-tiddle-i! ... Honk, honk!_

Too many people are alive to-day,
_With a Hey and a Ho and a Hee-haw-hee!_
Red already is the Red, Red Sea
With the blood of the brutal Boorzh-waw-ze,
And that's what the rest of the globe will be--
_Believe me!_
We'll stand at last with the Red Flag furled*
In a perfectly void vermilion world
With the citizens (if any) who have _not_ been hurled
_Into the grave of the Boorzh-waw-ze,
With a Hi-ti-tiddle-i ... Honk, honk!_

A. P. H.

[* NOTE.--In the Somerset version the word is
"_un_furled," which makes better sense but scans even worse
than the rest of the song. I have therefore followed the
Gloucestershire tradition.]

*