Ghostwriters
The Hungry Mile
In truth it is colder the waterside winterThan a roving a fugitive lifeNo one cries harder than a child without supperAt least we've got blankets at nightThey read out the names on the wireless each dayThe stevedores meet by the towersTo work on their ships with their cargoes to loadIf you're lucky they'll give you the hoursThere's a man in an old coat early each morningGrave as a hangman he standsSays that no one is served by the Government's nerveIt's worse if you work with your handsThe lines on his face are not lines of disgraceBut the lines at the dockside are longWhen Port Jackson steamships call you outYou work and work for a songWork and work for a songGive me a job on the Hungry Mile (x7)
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