In Honor of the Letter W,
A Hymn to the Worker.

The Worker! How we love to sing his praises!
The Worker! How we hate to give him raises!
We praise him as the fount of every virtue,
And also ’cause his union pals can hurt you.

The Worker! He’s the hero of our story!
The Worker! His the fame and his the glory!
We gladly pay him tribute every Mayday,
As long as we don’t have to every payday.

It’s really best, although it may seem funny,
That he should work, and we should get the money:
For ’tis a truth that cannot be ignored
That Virtue ought to be its own reward.