Songs of the workers: on the road, in the jungles, and in the shops (15th edition)

Front matter

E 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.

Remember

"REMEMBER" (Tune: "Hold the Fort")

We speak to you from jail today Two hundred union men, We're here because the bosses' laws Bring slavery again.

CHORUS

In Chicago's darkened dungeons For the O. B. U. Remember you're outside for us While we're in here for you.

We're here from mine and mill and rail We're here from off the sea, From coast to coast we make the boast Of Solidarity.

We laugh and sing, we have no fear Our hearts are always light, We know that every Wobblie true Will carry on the fight.

We make a pledge—no tyrant might Can make us bend a knee, Come on you worker, organize And fight for Liberty.

HARRISON GEORGE Cook County Jail, Oct. 18, 1917.

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 end the means 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 Worker's Commonwealth.

The Red Flag

THE RED FLAG By James Connell

The worker's 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 dungeous 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 equal 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 noisesome birds of prey Shall vanish from the sky some morning, The blessed sunlight will stay.

A shorter work day for all employed workers would put thousands of unemployed to work. If everybody worked there would be no poverty.

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? Our whips, thy noble spirit tame? Our 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!

I. W. W. Prison Song

I. W. W. PRISON SONG (Tune: "The Red Flag") By Ralph Chaplin

The pale and dismal daylight falls Through iron bars on prison walls. In chains we came from far and near, And in dark cells they hold us here.

CHORUS

Defiant 'neath the Iron Heel; Their walls of stone and bars of steel! For though all hell at us is hurled, We and our kind shall rule the world!

At us the blood-hounds are let loose, The lynch-mobs with the knotted noose; In legal sanctioned mask and gown The new Black Hundreds hut us down.

To all brave comrades o'er the sea, In chains for human liberty, And all jailed rebels everywhere We say: be bold to do and dare!

By all the graves of Labor's dead, By Labor's deathless flag of red, We make a solemn vow to you,— We'll keep the faith; we will be true.

For Freedom laughs at prison bars Her voice re-echoes from the stars; Proclaiming with the tempest's breath A Cause beyond the reach of death!

Cell 28, Cook County Jail, March 5, 1918.

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 wour 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. Here goes for better 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 want 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.

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 tnd 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 with spikes on soles, We want the man that's digging holes, We want the man that's climbing poles,

And the tracker 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, It 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?

Scissor Bill

SCISSOR BILL By Joe Hill (Tune: "Steamboat Bill"

You may ramble 'round the country anywhere you will, You'll always run across the 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 walk. 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 Bill 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 ! 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 evedy cop would be a native son If it wasn't for the Irishman, the sonna fur gun.

Scissor Bill, the "foreigners" is cussin; Scissor Bill, he says: "I hate a ";

Scissor Bill is down on everybody The , the 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 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.

Scissor Bill, he wouldn't join the union, Scissor 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.

All Hell Can't Stop Us!

ALL HELL CAN'T STOP US! (Tune: "Hold the Fort") (Written by Ralph H. Chaplin, in Leavenworth Penit.")

Now the final battle rages; Tyrants quake with fear. Rulers of the New Dark Ages Know THEIR end is near.

CHORUS

Scorn to take the crumbs they drop us; All is ours by right! Onward, men! All Hell can't stop us! Crush the Parasite!

With a world—wide revolution Bring them to your feet! They of crime and persecution— They must work to eat!

Tear the mask of lies asunder; Let the truth be known; With a voice like angry thunder; Rise and claim your own!

Down with Greed and Exploitation; Tyranny must fall! Hail to Toils' Emancipation; Labor shall be 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 to 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.

'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—

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."

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:

Whadda Ya Want to Break Your Back for the Boss For?

WHADDA YA WANT TO BREAK YOUR BACK FOR THE BOSS FOR? (Tune: "What Do You Want to Make Those Eyes at Me For?")

Toiling along in light from morn 'til night, Wearin' away your all for the Parasite; Working' like a mule with a number two, Puffin' like a bellows when the day is through; Steering a load of gravel through the muck and slop

Packing a hod of mustard 'til you damn near flop; Trying to bust a gut for two twenty-five, Pluggin' like a sucker 'til five.

CHORUS

So whadda ya want to break your back for the boss for, When it don't mean life to you? Do you think it right to struggle day and night, And plow like Hell for the Parasite? So whadda ya want to break your back for the boss for, When there's more in life for you? Slow up Bill! that's the way to beat the System; Join the Wobbly Gang, they've got the bosses guessing So whadda ya want to break your back for the boss for, When it don't mean life to you?

Do it all today and you'll soon find out, Tomorrow there'll be nothing but to hang about, Looking at the "job sign," wondering why you rave, With a wrinkle on your belly like an ocean wave; Doughnuts then begin to hang a little high, You're pinched by the Bull for a "German spy;" You're nothing but a bum, says the Judge with a smile, Thirty days on the Rock pile.

"Yaas," said the farmer reflectively "All the I. W. W. fellers I've met seem to be pretty decent lads, but them "alleged I. W. W's. must be holy frights."

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 they 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.

In Memory

IN MEMORY (Air: "The Memory of the Dead") By James J. Ferriter

The long, long wished for hour has come But come, I hope, not in vain, When workingmen in One Union Grand Will Liberty proclaim. We've fought on many a battle field Our Cause to maintain, And here today we stand as one— True Wobblies once again.

It was in the year of seventeen, On August the first day, The tyrant dogs of the master class Our hero bold did slay; We do not fear their lynching threats, Their gunmen nor their jails, And here today we stand as one— Our Union never fails.

Oh, cruel was this martyrdom Suffered by our patriot bold, When dragged upon the rough paved streets, All for the greed of gold; Sure, Christ himself, when on this earth Suffered on the Cross of Calvary His life for freedom gave.

Here's to your Memory Frank Little, Though dead and in your grave; For the worker's Cause you fought so hard And your precious life you gave.

But though you've gone your're not forgot— Your work lives just the some, For since you left we've organized In honor of your name!

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 you 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.

The Dollar Alarm Clock

THE DOLLAR ALARM CLOCK (Air: "Old oaken Bucket") By John Healy

How dear to my heart are those chimes in the morning, That yank me from bed with melodious thrill; How sweet is the sound of the regular warning That yells that it's time that I hike to the mill. Without it I'd sleep till the sun had arisen Be late to the job that my boss lets me use; Get canned, perhaps steal, Maybe land in a prison If the chimes didn't hustle me out of my snooze.

CHORUS:

The faithful alarm clock The rattling alarm clock; The dollar alarm clock That rests on my shelf.

What a blessing it was when the thing was invented It beats the slave-driver who came with his stick; It rests on the shelf in the shack that I rented It never gets hungry; it never gets sick. If overly weary I take a tin bucket And place the alarm clock down into the thing, When it chimes in the morning it doubles the racket; It would wake up the dead when the two of them ring.

Sometimes the good woman gets worn and weary And says we are hauling too much of a load, I tell her the journey would look still more dreary If the dollar alarm clock should fail to explode. Then here's to my booster that only needs winding, And here's to the victim that just keeps alive. The boss gets the money and I do the grinding; The clock starts the circus at quarter past five.

Hold the Fort

HOLD THE FORT (English Transport Worker's Strike Song)

We meet today in Freedom's cause , And raise our voices high; We'll join our hands in union strong, To battle or to die.

CHORUS:

Hold the fort for we are coming— Union men, be strong. Side by side we battle onward, Victory will come.

Look, my Comrades, see the union Banners waving high. Reinforcements now appearing, Victory is nigh.

See our numbers still increasing; Hear the bugle blow. By our union we shall thriumph Over every foe.

Fierce and long the battle rages, But we will not fear. Help will come whene'er it's needed, Cheer, my Comrades, cheer.

Mr. Block

MR. BLOCK By Joe Hill (Air: "It Looks To Me Like a Big Time Tonight")

Please give me your attention, I'll introduce to you A man that is a credit to "Our Red, White and Blue"; His head is made of lumber, and solid as a rock; He is a common worker and his name is Mr. Block. And Block he thinks he may Be President some day.

CHORUS:

Oh, Mr. Block, you were born by mistake, You take the cake, You make me ache. Tie on a rock to your block and then jump in the lake, Kindly do that for Liberty's sake.

Yes, Mr. Block is lucky; he found a job, by gee! The sharks got seven dollars, for job and fare and fee. They shipped him to a desert and dumped him with his truck, But when he tried to find his job, he sure was out of luck. He shouted, "That's too raw, I'll fix them with the law."

Block hiked back to the city, but wasn't doing well. He said, "I'll join the union—the great A. F. of L." He got a job next morning, got fired in the night, He said, "I'll see Sam Gompers and he'll fix that foreman right." Sam Gompers said, "You see, You've got our sympathy."

Election day he shouted, "A Socialist for Mayor!" The "comrade" got elected, he happy was for fair,

But after the election he got in awful shock. A great big socialistic Bull did rap him on the block. And Comrade Block did sob, "I helped him to his job."

Poor Block, he died one evening, I'm very glad to state; He climbed the golden ladder up to the pearly gate. He said, "Oh, Mr. Peter, one word I'll like to tell, I'd like to meet the Astorbilts and John D. Rockefell." Old Pete said, "Is that so? You'll meet them down below."

Farewell, Joe!

FAREWELL, JOE! (Tune: "Farewell To Thee") By Richard Brazier

Proudly went out Joe unto his death With smiling lips and fearless eyes This message gave with his last breath "Don't mourn for me, but ORGANIZE."

CHORUS:

Farewell to you, thou rebel true Whose singing heart has charmed our weary hours Those last brave words, before you did depart Shall live forever in our hearts.

Though they stilled your rebel heart with lead And sealed with death your lips, our Joe, Those words, the last you ever said Will bring to the masters ruin and woe.

We have shed no bitter tears for thee Nor have we sighed the mournful sigh. We have fought the fight to make men free In the cause for which you had to die.

The wind sighs gladly o'er your grave A requiem joyfully for thee.

It seems to sing, the life you gave Will hasten that day of liberty.

CHORUS TO LAST STANZA

Farewell, Joe, you had to go. The masters had declared that you should die, Joe, But although you're gone into that great unknown Your memory long with us, shall live.

We Have Fed You All for a Thousand Years

WE HAVE FED YOU ALL FOR A THOUSAND YEARS Poem—by an Unknown Proletarian. Music—by Rudolf von Liebich, of the General Recruiting Union, Chicago, and Composer of Music for the Working Class.

We have fed you all, for a thousand years And you hail us still unfed, Though there's never a dollar of all your wealth But marks the worker's dead. We have yielded our best to give you rest And you lie on crimson wool. Then if blood be the price of all your wealth, Good God! We have paid it in full.

There is never a mine blown skyward now But we're buried alive for you. There's never a wreck drifts shoreward now But we are its ghastly crew. Go reckon our dead by the forges red And the factories where we spin. If blood be the price of your cursed wealth Good God! we have paid it in.

We have fed you all for a thousand years— For that was our doom you know, From the days when you chained us in your fields

To the strike of a week ago You have taken our lives, and our babies and wives And we're told it's your legal share; But if blood be the price of your lawful wealth Good God! we have bought it fair.

The Dream of a Millionaire

THE DREAM OF A MILLIONAIRE By John E. Nordquist. (Tune: "The Dream of a Soldier Boy")

In every jail on "democracy's" trail, The wobblies were doing their bit; A parasite lay dreaming Who said their doom was fit. When the darkness had taken to flight, Then he told of his dream in the night;

CHORUS

"We have crushed the Industrial Union, We have killed all their active men; We have smeared them with tar and we've beat them with clubs, And scared away the working dubs. There's no chance for their organization— ONE BIG UNION has turned to air, And back are the toilers to slav'ry again:" 'Twas the dream of a millionaire.

From every cell does the grand message swell; "The toilers must organize! Put down your tyrant masters, Accept no compromise, And the dream of your slavery's night Shall come true in the real freedom's light:

Second CHORUS

When the Industrial Workers shall thriumph,

All the masters must go to work; And our mothers and babes shall have homes that day, And work-worn children then shall play. Every mortal shall live by his labor And the old folks shall have good care; The earth to a paradise will be transformed— But a dream is the millionaire.

Solidarity Forever!

SOLIDARITY FOREVER! By Ralph H. Chaplin (Tune: "John Brown's Body")

When the Union's insipration through the worker's blood shall run, There can be no power greater anywhere beneath the sun Yet what force on earth is weaker than the feeble strength of one? But the Union makes us strong.

CHORUS:

Solidarity forever! Solidarity forever! Solidarity forever! But the Union makes us strong.

Is there aught we hold in common with the greedy parasite Who would lash us into serfdom and would crush us with his might Is there anything left for us but to organize and fight? For the Union makes us strong.

It is we who plowed the prairies; built the cities where they trade. Dug the mines and built the workshops; endless miles of railroad laid.

Now we stand, outcast and starving, 'mid the wonders we have made; For the Union makes us strong.

All the world that's owned by idle drones, is ours and ours alone. We have laid the wide foundations; built it skywards, stone by stone. It is ours, and not slave in, but to master and to own, While the Union makes us strong.