Songs of the Workers (9th edition)

Excerpts

THE PREAMBLE Of the Industrial Workers of the World

The working class and the employing class have nothing in common. There can be no peace so long as hunger and want are found among millions of working people and the few, who make up the employing class have all the good things of life.

Between these two classes a struggle must go on until the workers of the world organize as a class, take possession of the earth and the machinery of production, and abolish the wage system.

We find that the centering of management of the industries into fewer and fewer hands makes the trade unions unable to cope with the ever growing power of the employing class. The trade unions foster a state of affairs which allows one set of workers to be pitted against another set of workers in the same industry, thereby helping defeat one another in wage wars. Moreover, the trade unions aid the employing class to mislead the workers into the belief that the working class have interests in common with their employers.

These conditions can be changed and the interest of the working class upheld only by an organization formed in such a way that all its members in any one industry, or in all industries if necessary, cease work whenever a strike or lockout is on in any department thereof, thus making an injury to one an injury to all.

Instead of the conservative motto, "A fair day's wage for a fair day's work," we must inscribe on our banner the revolutionary watchword, "Abolition of the wage system."

It is the historic mission of the working class to do away with capitalism. The army of production must be organized, not only for the every-day struggle with capitalists, but also to carry on production when capitalism shall have been overthrown. By organizing industrially we are forming the structure of the new society within the shell of the old.

SONGS OF THE WORKERS

ON THE ROAD IN THE JUNGLES AND IN THE SHOPS

NINTH EDITION

CLEVELAND

I. W. W. PUBLISHING BUREAU

MARCH, 1916

INDEX

JOE HILL.

Murdered by the Authorities of the State of Utah, November the 19th, 1915.

High head and back unbending—fearless and true, Into the night unending; why was it you?

Heart that was quick with song, torn with their lead; Life that was young and strong, shattered and dead.

Singer of manly songs, laughter and tears; Singer of Labor's wrongs, joys, hopes and fears.

Though you were one of us, what could we do? Joe, there were none of us needed like you.

We gave, however small, what Life could give; We would have given all that you might live.

Your death you held as naught, slander and shame; We from the very thought shrank as from flame.

Each of us held his breath, tense with despair, You, who were close to Death, seemed not to care.

White-handed loathsome power, knowing no pause, Sinking in labor's flower, murderous claws;

Boastful, with leering eyes, blood-dripping jaws . . . Accurst be the cowardice hidden in laws!

Utah has drained your blood; white hands are wet; We of the "surging flood" NEVER FORGET!

Our songster! have your laws now had their fill? Know, ye, his songs and cause ye cannot kill.

High head and back unbending—"rebel true blue," Into the night unending; why was it you?

Ralph Chaplin.

HOW TO JOIN THE I. W. W.

Any wage worker wishing to become a member of the Industrial Workers of the World, may proceed in the following manner:

1. If you live in a locality where there is a union of your industry already in existence, apply to the secretary of that local union. He will furnish you with an application blank containing the Preamble to the I. W. W. Constitution and the two questions which each candidate must answer in the affirmative. The questions are as follows:

"Do you agree to abide by the constitution and regulations of this organization?"

"Will you diligently study its principles and make yourself acquainted with its purposes?"

The initiation fee is fixed by the Local Union, but cannot be more than $5.00 in any instance, and is usually $2.00 or less. The monthly dues cannot exceed $1.00 and are in most locals 50 cents.

2. If there is no Local Union of the I. W. W. in your vicinity, you may become a Member-at-Large by making application to the General Secretary, whose address is given below. You will be required to answer affirmatively the two above questions, and pay an initiation fee of $2.00. The monthly dues are $1.00 for Members-at-Large.

3. Better still, write to the General Secretary for a Charter Application Blank. Get no less than TWENTY signatures thereon, of bona fide wage workers in any one industry and send the charter application with the names to the General Secretary, with the $10.00 charter fee. Supplies, constitutions and instructions will then be sent you, and you can proceed to organize the local.

Join the I. W. W. Do it now!

The address of the General Secretary-Treasurer of the I. W. W. is, Wm. D. Haywood, 307-164 W. Washington Street, Chicago, Ill.

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SS | Eleven different original designs drawn especially for this purpose by Chaplin. All are printed in red and black ink on the best non-curling gummed paper in sizes averaging only 2x2 inches. Small packages put up in waxed envelopes containing 10 each of the 11 different designs or a total of 110 STICKERETTES. Larger packages of 10 of these envelopes put up in paste board boxes, a total of 1100 STICKERETTES. Two prices,15c for a small envelope of 110, or $1.00 for a box of 1100. These may be obtained in Quantities from any Local Union or direct, postpaid, from The I. W. W. Publishing Bureau.

Industrial Union Literature | Too great a number of titles of books, pamphlets, leaflets, etc, are now furnished by the Publishing Bureau to allow their listing here in limited space. Innearly every town there are either Local Organizations of the I. W. W. or Newsdealers who carry a complete stock of the literature on this subject. | An Introductory Package of literature the regular value of which is $1.00 is offered to those wishing to make a preliminary study of this subject and the I. W. W. at 50c postpaid. The package contains one each of eleven pamphlets and also a copy of the Song Book and Assorted Leaflets. | A complete list and prices of both the reading matter and other special mediums of propaganda such as I. W. W. Pennants, special designs in stickers, Pictures, Sheet Music, photograhhs and post cards will be sent free to any address on receipt of request. | I. W. W. Publishing Bureau

SOLIDARITY

The Official English Organ Of The Industrial Workers Of The World

A GLANCE through the files of Solidarity for the last six years presents a vivid picture of the activities of The Labor Movement during this period, and the rise and development of The Industrial Union Idea to the promise of today. Intimate first hand accounts of all the stirring action; records of the accumulating experiences and theories tested—all have made Solidarity the one real live news and educational paper of the revolutionary labor movement. This year it is to be better than ever. Commencing with the issue of May first, we expect to change the form to that of the large magazine style of sixteen interesting pages each week. It will still remain "A Newspaper of The Labor Movement" but with more room for a greater variety of appeal.

A Dollar Bill Sent Today At Our Risk Will Bring You Solidarity For The Next Fifty Two Weeks.

Published Weekly By I. W. W. Publishing Bureau 112 Hamilton Av., Cleveland, Ohio, U. S. A.

Workers of the World, Awaken

WORKERS OF THE WORLD, AWAKEN!

By Joe Hill.

Workers of the world, awaken! Break your chains, demand your rights. All the wealth you make is taken By exploiting parasites. Shall you kneel in deep submission From your cradles to your graves? Is the height of your ambition To be good and willing slaves?

CHORUS:

Arise, ye prisoners of starvation! Fight for your own emancipation; Arise, ye slaves of every nation! In One Union grand. Our little ones for bread are crying, And millions are from hunger dying; The means the end is justifying, 'Tis the final stand.

If the workers take a notion, They can stop all speeding trains; Every ship upon the ocean They can tie with mighty chains. Every wheel in the creation, Every mine and every mill, Fleets and armies of the nation, Will at their command stand still.

Join the union, fellow workers, Men and women, side by side; We will crush the greedy shirkers Like a sweeping, surging tide; For united we are standing, But divided we will fall; Let this be our understanding— "All for one and one for all."

Workers of the world, awaken! Rise in all your splendid might; Take the wealth that you are making, It belongs to you by right.

No one will for bread be crying, We'll have freedom, love and health. When the grand red flag is flying In the Workers' Commonwealth.

The Red Flag

'

By James Connell.

The workers' flag is deepest red, It shrouded oft, our martyred dead; And ere their limbs grew stiff and cold Their life blood dyed its every fold.

CHORUS:

Then raise the scarlet standard high Beneath its folds, we'll live and die, Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer, We'll keep the red flag flying here.

Look 'round the Frenchman loves its blaze The sturdy German chants its praise; In Moscow's vaults, its hymns are sung, Chicago swells its surging song.

It waved above our infant might When all ahead seemed dark as night; It witnessed many a deed and vow, We will not change its color now.

It suits today, the meek and base Whose minds are fixed on pelf and place; To cringe beneath the rich man's frown, And haul that sacred emblem down.

With heads uncovered, swear we all, To bear it onward till we fall; Come dungeons dark, or gallows grim, This song shall be our parting hymn!

The Internationale

THE INTERNATIONALE.

By Eugene Pottier.

(Translated by Charles H. Kerr.)

Arise, ye prisoners of starvation! Arise, ye wretched of the earth, For justice thunders condemnation, A better world's in birth. No more tradition's chains shall bind us, Arise, ye slaves; no more in thrall! The earth shall rise on new foundations, We have been naught, we shall be all.

REFRAIN

'Tis the final conflict. Let each stand in his place, The Industrial Union Shall be the human race.

We want no condescending saviors, To rule us from a judgment hall; We workers ask not for their favors; Let us consult for all. To make the thief disgorge his booty To free the spirit from its cell, We must ourselves decide our duty, We must decide and do it well.

The law oppresses us and tricks us, Wage systems drain our blood; The rich are free from obligations, The laws the poor delude. Too long we've languished in subjection, Equality has other laws; No rights," says she, "without their duties, No claims on equals without cause."

Behold them seated in their glory, The kings of mine and rail and soil! What have you read in all their story, But how they plundered toil?

Fruits of the workers' toil are buried In the strong coffers of a few; In working for their restitution The men will only ask their due.

Toilers from shops and fields united, The union we of all who work; The earth belongs to us, the workers, No room here for the shirk. How many on our flesh have fattened! But if the noisome birds of prey Shall vanish from the sky some morning, The blessed sunlight still will stay.

The Banner of Labor

THE BANNER OF LABOR.

(Tune: "The Star Spangled Banner.")

Oh, say, can you hear, coming near and more near, The call now resounding: "Come all ye who labor?" The Industrial band, throughout all the land Bid toilers remember each toiler his neighbor. Come, workers, unite! 'tis Humanity's fight. We call, you come forth in your manhood and might.

CHORUS:

And the BANNER OF LABOR will surely soon wave O'er the land that is free, from the master and slave. And the BANNER OF LABOR will surely soon wave O'er the land that is free, from the master and slave.

The blood and the lives of children and wives Are ground into dollars for parasites' pleasure; The children now slave, till they sink in their grave— That robbers may fatten and add to their treasure. Will you idly sit by, unheeding their cry? Arise! Be ye men! See, the battle draws nigh!

Long, long has the spoil of labor and toil Been wrung from the workers by parasite classes; While Poverty gaunt, Desolation and Want Have dwelt in the bowels of earth's toiling masses. Through bloodshed and tears, our day star appears, INDUSTRIAL UNION, the wage slave now cheers.

The Workers' Marseillaise

THE WORKERS' MARSEILLAISE.

Ye sons of toil, awake to glory! Hark, hark, what myriads bid you rise; Your children, wives and grandsires hoary— Behold their tears and hear their cries! Behold their tears and hear their cries! Shall hateful tyrants mischief breeding, With hireling hosts, a ruffian band— Affright and desolate the land, While peace and liberty lie bleeding?

CHORUS:

To arms! to arms! ye brave! Th' avenging sword unsheathe! March on, march on, all hearts resolved On Victory or Death.

With luxury and pride surrounded, The vile, insatiate despots dare, Their thirst for gold and power unbounded To mete and vend the light and air, To mete and vend the light and air, Like beasts of burden, would they load us, Like gods would bid their slaves adore, But Man is Man, and who is more? Then shall they longer lash and goad us?

O, Liberty! can man resign thee? Once having felt thy generous flame, Can dungeon's bolts and bars confine thee? Or whips, thy noble spirit tame? Or whips, thy noble spirit tame? Too long the world has wept bewailing. That Falsehood's dagger tyrants wield; But Freedom is our sword and shield; And all their arts are unavailing!

You starving member of the unemployed. Why starve? We have produced enough. The warehouses are overflowing with the things we need. WHY STARVE?

Should I Ever Be a Soldier

SHOULD I EVER BE A SOLDIER.

By Joe Hill.

(Tune : "Colleen Bawn.")

We're spending billions every year For guns and ammunition, Our Army" and "our Navy" dear, To keep in good condition; While millions live in misery And millions died before us, Don't sing "My Country 'tis of thee," But sing this little chorus.

CHORUS:

Should I ever be a soldier, 'Neath the Red Flag I would fight; Should the gun I ever shoulder, It's to crush the tyrant's might. Join the army of the toilers, Men and women fall in line, Wage slaves of the world! Arouse! Do your duty for the cause, For Land and Liberty.

And many a maiden, pure and fair, Her love and pride must offer On Mammon's altar in despair, To fill the master's coffer, The gold that pays the mighty fleet, From tender youth he squeezes, While brawny men must walk the street And face the wintry breezes.

Why do they mount their gatling gun A thousand miles from ocean, Where hostile fleet could never run— Ain't that a funny notion? If you don't know the reason why Just strike for better wages, And then, my friends—if you don't die— You'll sing this song for ages.

Harvest War Song

HARVEST WAR SONG.

By Pat Brennan

(Tune: "Tipperary.")

We are coming home, John Farmer; we are coming back to stay. For nigh on fifty years or more, we've gathered up your hay. We have slept out in your hayfields, we have heard your morning shout; We've heard you wondering, where in hell's them pesky go-abouts?

CHORUS:

It's a long way, now understand me; it's a long way to town; It's a long way across the prairie, and to hell with Farmer John. Up goes machine or wages, and the hours must come down; For we're out for a winter's stake this summer, and we want no scabs around.

You've paid the going wages, that's what kept us on the bum, You say you've done your duty, you chin-whiskered son of a gun. We have sent your kids to college, but still you must rave and shout, And call us tramps and hoboes, and pesky go-abouts.

But now the wintry breezes are a-shaking our poor frames, And the long drawn days of hunger, try to drive us boes insane. It is driving us to action—we are organized today; Us pesky tramps and hoboes, are coming back to stay.

Every worker should have an ambition to live to be a healthy old man or woman and hear the whistle blow for the bosses to go to work.

What We Want

WHAT WE WANT.

By Joe Hill.

(Tune: "Rainbow.")

We want all the workers in the world to organize Into a great big union grand And when we all united stand The world for workers we'll demand If the working class could only see and realize What mighty power labor has Then the exploiting master class It would soon fade away.

CHORUS:

Come all ye toilers that work for wages, Come from every land, Join the fighting band, In one union grand, Then for the workers we'll make upon this earth a paradise When the slaves get wise and organize.

We want the sailor and the tailor and the lumberjacks, And all the cooks and laundry girls, We want the guy that dives for pearls, The pretty maid that's making curls, And the baker and staker and the chimneysweep We want the man that's slinging hash, The child that works for little cash In one union grand.

We want the tinner and the skinner and the chambermaid, We want the man that spikes on soles, We want the man that's digging holes, We want the man that's climbing poles, And the trucker and the mucker and the hired man And all the factory girls and clerks, Yes, we want every one that works, In one union grand.

Workingmen, Unite

WORKINGMEN, UNITE!

By E. S. Nelson.

(Tune: "Red Wing.")

Conditions they are bad, And some of you are sad; You cannot see your enemy, The class that lives in luxury,— You workingmen are poor,— Will be forevermore,— As long as you permit the few To guide your destiny.

CHORUS:

Shall we still be slaves and work for wages? It is outrageous—has been for ages; This earth by right belongs to toilers, And not to spoilers of liberty.

The master class is small, But they have lots of "gall." When we unite to gain our right, If they resist we'll use our might; There is no middle ground This fight must be one round To victory, for liberty, Our class is marching on!

Workingmen, unite! We must put up a fight, To make us free from slavery And capitalistic tyranny; This fight is not in vain, We've got a world to gain. Will you be a fool, a capitalist tool? And serve your enemy?

Our Country? The country of millions of hunted, homeless, hungry slaves! The country of Colorado, Louisiana, Texas, Michigan, Pennsylvania, West Virginia and all the other innumerable scenes of labor's shambles? Not OUR country.

Scissor Bill

SCISSOR BILL.

By Joe Hill.

(Tune: "Steamboat Bill")

You may ramble 'round the country anywhere you will, You'll always run across that same old Scissor Bill. He's found upon the desert, he is on the hill, He's found in every mining camp and lumber mill. He looks just like a human, he can eat and walk, But you will find he isn't, when he starts to talk. He'll say, "This is my country," with an honest face, While all the cops they chase him out of every place.

CHORUS:

Scissor Bill, he is a little dippy, Scissor Bill, he has a funny face. Scissor Bin should drown in Mississippi, He is the missing link that Darwin tried to trace.

And Scissor Bill he couldn't live without the booze, He sits around all day and spits tobacco juice. He takes a deck of cards and tries to beat the Chink! Yes, Bill would be a smart guy if he only could think. And Scissor Bill he says: "This country must be freed From Niggers, Japs and Dutchmen and the gol durn Swede." He says that every cop would be a native son If it wasn't for the Irishman, the sonna fur gun.

CHORUS:

Scissor Bill, the "foreigners" is cussin', Scissor Bill, he says: "I hate a Coon"; Scissor Bill is down on everybody, The Hottentots, the bushmen and the man in the moon.

Don't try to talk your union dope to Scissor Bill, He says he never organized and never will. He always will be satisfied until he's dead, With coffee and a doughnut and a lousy old bed. And Bill, he says he gets rewarded thousand fold, When he gets up to Heaven on the streets of gold. But I don't care who knows it, and right here I'll tell, If Scissor Bill is goin' to Heaven, I'll go to Hell.

CHORUS:

Scissor Bill, he wouldn't join the union, Sissor Bill, he says, "Not me, by Heck!" Scissor Bill gets his reward in Heaven, Oh! sure. He'll get it, but he'll get it in the neck.

A Dream

A DREAM

By Richard Brazier.

(Tune: "The Holy City.")

One day as I lay dreaming, this vision came to me: I saw an army streaming singing of liberty; I marked these toilers passing by, I listened to their cry, It was a triumphant anthem—an anthem filled with joy; It was a triumphant anthem—an anthem filled with joy.

CHORUS:

One union, industrial union; Workers of the world unite, To make us free from slavery And gain each man his right.

I saw the ruling classes watching this grand array Of marching, toiling masses passing on their way; With pallid cheeks and trembling limbs they gazed upon this throng, And ever as they marched along the workers sang the song; And ever as they marched along the workers sang the song:

Methought I heard the workers call to that ruling band— Come into our ranks, ye shirkers, for we now rule this land. Work or starve, the workers said, for you must earn your bread. Then into their ranks came the masters and joined the workers' song; Then into their ranks came the masters and joined the workers' song.

All workers, "The Army of Production," in One Big Union, regardless of age, creed, color or sex, is invincible.

Labor is entitled to all it produces. An injury to one is an injury to all.

The Tramp

THE TRAMP.

By Joe Hill.

(Tune: "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Boys are Marching.")

If you all will shut your trap, I will tell you 'bout a chap, That was broke and up against it, too, for fair; He was not the kind that shirk, He was looking hard for work, But he heard the same old story everywhere.

CHORUS:

Tramp, tramp, tramp, keep on a-tramping, Nothing doing here for you; If I catch you 'round again, You will wear the ball and chain, Keep on tramping, that's the best thing you can do.

He walked up and down the street, 'Till the shoes fell off his feet. In a house he spied a lady cooking stew, And he said, "How do you do, May I chop some wood for you?" What the lady told him made him feel so blue.

CHORUS:

'Cross the street a sign he read, Work for Jesus," so it said, And he said, "Here is my chance, I'll surely try," And he kneeled upon the floor, 'Till his knees got rather sore. But at eating-time he heard the preacher cry—

CHORUS:

Down the street he met a cop. And the Copper made him stop, And he asked him, "When did you blow into town? Come with me up to the judge." But the judge he said, "Oh fudge, Bums that have no money needn't come around."

CHORUS:

Finally came that happy day When his life did pass away, He was sure he'd go to heaven when he died, When he reached the pearly gate, Santa Peter, mean old skate, Slammed the gate right in his face and loudly cried:

We Come

WE COME.

(Air: "Toreador Song.")

Workers, the World! The Masters call in vain. Though ground down pitiless, We rise again; And to the call of millions crying from the depths, We shout our message to man— And from the hearts of all the land Comes loud and clear The answering call, We Come."

Workers, be brave; Through nights of toil and pain, Oppression and slavery, Priest, gun and chain, Law and the bribings of a cruel, despotic class, We march and sing our refrain— Singing hopes of a million slaves: Workers, unite, Unite."

Workers, be strong; They offer bribes in vain, Promise and trick us, Keep us enchained; But to humanity's call we answering come, Chanting our far flung refrain— And from the hearts of all the land Comes loud and clear The answer to us, Workers, unite, We Come."

Workers, the World! Though Masters call in vain, Grind us down pitiless, We'll rise again. , And to the call of millions crying from the depths, We fling our challenge for right— And from the hearts of all the land Comes loud and clear The answering call, We Come!"

The Preacher and the Slave

THE PREACHER AND THE SLAVE.

By Joe Hill.

(Tune: "Sweet Bye and Bye.")

Long-haired preachers come out every night, Try to tell you what's wrong and what's right; But when asked how 'bout something to eat They will answer with voices so sweet:

CHORUS:

You will eat, bye and bye, In that glorious land above the sky; Work and pray, live on hay, You'll get pie in the sky when you die.

And the starvation army they play, And they sing and clap and they pray Till they get all your coin on the drum, Then they'll tell you when you're on the bum:

Holy Rollers and jumpers come out, And they holler, they jump and they shout. Give your money to Jesus," they say, He will cure all diseases today."

If you fight hard for children and wife— Try to get something good in this life— You're a sinner and bad man, they tell, When you die you will sure go to hell.

Workingmen of all countries, unite, Side by side we for freedom will fight; When the world and its wealth we have gained To the grafters we'll sing this refrain:

LAST CHORUS:

You will eat, bye and bye, When you've learned how to cook and to fry Chop some wood, 'twill do you good, And you'll eat in the sweet bye and bye.

They are All Fighters

THEY ARE ALL FIGHTERS.

By Richard Brazier.

(Tune: "San Antonio.")

There is a bunch of honest workingmen; They're known throughout the land. They've seen the horrors of the bull-pen, From Maine to the Rio Grande. They've faced starvation, hunger, privation; Upon them the soldiers were hurled. Their organization is known to the nation As the Industrial Workers of the World. Then hail to this fighting band! Good luck to their union grand!

CHORUS:

They're all fighting from the word go, And to the master They'll bring disaster. And if you'll join them They'll let you know Just the reason the boss must go.

They've faced the Pinkerton and Gatling guns In defense of their natural rights; They proved themselves to be labor sons In all of the workers' fights; They have been hounded by power unbounded Of capitalists throughout the land, But all are astounded, our foes are confounded For we still remain a union grand. Then hail to this fighting band!

You live on coffee and on doughnuts; The Boss lives on porterhouse steak. You work ten hours a day and live in huts; The Boss lives in the palace you make. You face starvation, hunger, privation, But the Boss is always well fed. Though of low station you've built this nation— Built it upon your dead. Then when will you ever get wise; When will you open your eyes?

There is Power in a Union

THERE IS POWER IN A UNION.

By Joe Hill.

(Tune: "There Is Power in the Blood.")

Would you have freedom from wage slavery, Then join in the grand Industrial band; Would you from mis'ry and hunger be free, Then come! Do your share, like a man.

CHORUS:

There is pow'r, there is pow'r In a band of workingmen, When they stand hand in hand, That's a pow'r, that's a pow'r That must rule in every land— One Industrial Union Grand.

Would you have mansions of gold in the sky, And live in a shack, way in the back? Would you have wings up in heaven to fly, And starve here with rags on your back?

If you've had "nuff" of "the blood of the lamb" Then join in the grand, Industrial band; If, for a change, you would have eggs and ham, Then come, do your share, like a man.

If you like sluggers to beat off your head, Then don't organize, all unions despise, If you want nothing before you are dead, Shake hands with your boss and look wise.

Come, all ye workers, from every land, Come, join in the grand Industrial band, Then we our share of this earth shall demand. Come on! Do your share, like a man.

"Why should one man's belly be empty when ten men can produce enough to feed a hundred?"

Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay

TA-RA-RA BOOM DE-AY.

By Joe Hill.

I had a job once threshing wheat, worked sixteen hours with hands and feet. And when the moon was shining bright, they kept me working all the night. One moonlight night, I hate to tell, I "accidentally" slipped and fell. My pitchfork went right in between some cog wheels of that thresh-machine.