It was back in nineteen twenty-two when I was twenty-three
I turned my seaman's papers in, said farewell to the sea;
I changed my old blue dungarees for the fireman's livery,
O, cursed be the day, my bows, when I lost my liberty.

Each day I rose before the dawn and did the daily chores;
I swept and scoured and polished the brass and scrubbed out miles of floors.
I worked at the pumps and drilled and drilled and climbed the ladder so high,
And when there wasn't a job to do, they kept me standing by.

The work was hard, the hours were long and measly was the pay;
I became a slave to a lousy bell that rang by night and day.
It slaughtered many a sleep for me with its horrible, raucous cries,
And sent me slithering down the pole with the sleep still in my eyes.

I've fought more fires than I can count, I've fought 'em early and late,
I've breathed more smoke than the devil in hell, more steam than a boilerman's mate.
My hands have been frozen to the branch when the night was cold and chill,
And many's the time I've slowly fried like bacon on the grill.

I fought the fires in the London blitz when the bombs came fast and free,
I've put my branch on many a house and blazing factory.
I've fought the smoke and the poison fumes to keep the flames at bay,
But now I'm in the union, boys, and fight for better pay.

All honour to Jim Bradley and the lads of wide renown,
Who fought our early battles and who would not be put down.
There's still a pinch n the old top boot as anyone will allow,
But things are going better, boys, we've got the union now!