I went into a factory
to earn my daily bread:
Men said: "The home is woman's sphere."
"I have no home," I said.
But when the men all marched to war,
they cried to wife and maid,
"Oh, never mind about the home,
but save the export trade."
For it's women this and women that, and home's the place for you,
But it's patriotic angels when there's outside work to do,
There's outside work to do, my dears, there's outside work to do,
It's patriotic angels when there's outside work to do.
Read the rest of it, and more poetry of the Women's Suffrage Movement, at The Hairpin. Link -via Metafilter