Maybe you might know the building, Wellington’s trades hall
Not the flashest place in town, it's dingy old and small
Where unions keep ticking over, from year to weary year
They seldom make sensations, but thank god, they’re still here
Union people help the working folks in many different ways
Without their efforts we’d have even colder darker days

The end of one grey autumn day, near time to shut the door
Ernie took a one last look around the foyer floor
“Some silly bugger’s left his bag, I’ll stow it” Ernie said
He grabbed the little handle and a union man was dead

Now they never caught the bastard who booby trapped our place
All we do know it was somebody afraid to show their face
Who didn’t front like Ernie, and happen how it may
He wore it for the rest of us still in the hall that day

Now thirty years later, the old building still remains
It seems easier to count the knocks than tally up the gains
But unions keep ticking over, from year to weary year
They seldom make sensations, but thank god they’re still here.
'cos union people help the working folks in many different ways
Without their efforts we’d have even colder darker days