.Herr Slentrian var en olycklig sjl
Allt han gjorde kndes innerst inne fel
Han har sttt trettio are vid samma maskin
Slitit ut kropp och hjrna I den tunga industrin
Men han ville inte bryta sig loss
P nt stt knde han sig trygg frsts
Varje mnad fr han sin slavranson
Han are.
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