I. W.W. SONGS

SONGS OF LIFE-from the mine, mill, factory and shop

TWENTY-SECOND EDITION 1926

PRICE TEN CENTS

PUBLISHED BY THE INDUSTRIAL WORKERS OF THE WORLD 3333 BELMONT AV]i,. . cmCAGO, ILL., u. s. A • INDEX · Page All Hell Can't St op Us---····················-···········-··-········-··-· 29 Are You A Wobbly?______·····--···----·-·-·--···------·-·------··- 1-8 Banner of Labor, The---···------·------·--·-····-·-----·--·------9 California Prison Song, The·----·-·------·--·-----·-----· 14 Call To Action, A---·-----·-··---······------··-···-·-·------·-·----· 53 Casey Jones-The Union Scab.. .. ·-·----······--·----····----··-·-- 5i Commonwealth of Toil, The.. ·--·--·-·-·-······-··-····-···-····-·- 7 Dan ~IcGa nn ----·-·········-··-·-·------····------··---·------44 Dawn of Freedom, The·------·--·--·------·------13 Dollar Alarm Clock, The ..... ·-··---·-·-·· --···----·----·-·---·-·-·----- 49 Dump the Bosses Off Your Back ...... ____ 61 Fifty Thousand Lumber Jacks ______: ______43 Hark! The Battle Cry Is Ringing ..... ·-······------··------· 39 Harvesters ! ·········-·····---·-···-·------·-·-·------····-·-· 30 Harvest Land --···-·-····-···--··------·-· ·-·······------·-······-·------57 Harvest \Var Song...... ·-···-·---·· -·---·······-···--·-····--··----·-·-- 32 Hold The F ort·--···--···-·-·······-·······--·------·-·----····-- ·····---· 10 HoJIB of the Ages, The ...... ------·-···-----····---- -··-----·-··-- 28 I'm Too Old To Be a Scab. ..- ---···--····----·· -·------·-····-- 19 International, The ------·--·---·--·------··------·-----···------8 J oe Hill -----··--···----·---····-·--··--·-· ·-··-····-···-----····-·-···--·------·· 23 J oe Hill's Last Will...... ---- ·------·------25 Might Is Right-·--·--···----·----·-·------·------·------···-- -···---- 52 Mr. Block ------·------·-··---·····--··-···-----·--···-···- 16 My Wandering Boy··-··-··-···········-······-·····-······-·-··-······--·- 15 Oh, How I Hate To Get Up In The Morning ...... 50 Jne Big Industrial Union --···------·-··- --···-·--·--·-·--·----···-- 63 Paint 'er Red --····-···-···--··--·-·--··-··------· ----·····---- ··-······---- 48 P opular Wobbly, The ...... --- - -·-· · ·-·--· · · ·- - - - -~ ----· ------·- 61 Preacher and The Slave, The ...... ------··---·······------35 Rebel Girl, The---····-·········-----···------·-·-----·-··-·---···--- 27 Page Red Feast, The...... 5 5 Red Flag, The. . ·-·············...... 64 Scissor Bill ...... 33 Should I Ever Be A Soldier._ ...... 20 Solidarity Forever ··························--··--·-··-·············-·----· 10 Stung Right ·········-····················-··························--····---- 30 That Tumble·Down Shack...... 17 There Is Power In A Union ...... 31 They Are All Fighters ...... 47 To Frank H. Little ..·--· ·············-······-·················-········... 40 Tragedy of Sunset Land, The .. ·-·····-·- - ······················· O Tramp, The ...... 34 Wage Workers, Come Join The Union ...... 42 We have Fed You All For A Thousand Years ...... 20 We Will Sing One Song...... 54 Wesley Everest ...... 5 WESLEY EVEREST What We \Vant ...... 12 (Mutilated and murdered at Centralia, Washington, When You Wear That Button ...... 38 Nov. 11, 1919, by a mob of "respectable" White Slave, The...... 60 business men) Workers' Marseillaise, The ...... 21 Workers Of The World Are Now Awakening, The...... 51 Torn and defiant as a wind-lashed reed, Workers Of The World, Awaken ...... 24 Wounded he faced you as he stood at bay; You dared not lynch him in the light of day, Workers Of The World!...... 56 But on your dungeon stones you let him bleed; Workingmen, Unite! ...... 59 Night came .. . and you black vigilants of Greed ••• Like human wolves, seized hard upon your prey, Tortured and killed . . . and silently slunk away Without one qualm of horror at the deed. Once .. . long ago • .• do you remember how You hailed Him king for soldiers to deride- You placed a scroll above His bleeding brow And spat upon Him, scourged Him, crucified . . . A rebel unto Caesar-then as now Alone, thorn-er • a spear wound in his side! 5 THE TRAGEDY OF SUNSET LAND THE COMMONWEALTH OF TOIL By Loren Roberts (A Centralia Victim, now in Walla Walla Penitentiary) By Ralph Chaplin (TUNE: "Silvery Colorado" (AIR : "Nellie Grey".) In the gloo m of mighty cities There's a little western city in the shadow of the hills Mid the r oar of whirling wheels, Where sleeps a brave young rebel 'neath the dew; We are toiling on like cha ttel slaves of old, Now he's free from life's long struggle, his name is with And our masters hope to keep us us still; Ever thus beneath their heels, We lmow that he was fearless, tried and true. And t o coin our very life blood into gold. In a homely pine board coffin our warrior lies at rest. Those henchmen turned loose on him one day­ CHORUS These parting words were spoken: "Boys, I did my best!" But we have a glowing dream -Where the old Chehalis river flows its way. Of how fair the world will seem When each man can live his life secure and free; CHORUS When the earth is owned by Labor Now the moonbeams in the dell lin&?er there in sad And there's joy and· peace for all farewell, In he Commonwealth of Toil that is to be. In memory of that fateful autumn day; II And some day we are coming home in the Sunset Land They would keep us cowed and beaten to roam, Cringing meekly at their feet. Where the old Chehalis river Hows its way. They would stand between each worker and his bread. The monarchs of the forest were secure in their regime Shall we yield up our lives to them . When they took brave Wesley Everest's life away. For the bitter crust we eat? His name will be a memory in the workers' high esteem­ Shall we only hope for heaven when we're dead? Where the. old Chehalis river flows its waY.. III When the sunhght floods the hilltops and the birds will They have laid our lives out for us sing once more, - To the utter end-of time. In that valley we will settle down to stay, Shall we stagger on beneath their heavy load? There to organize the workers on that lonely woodla nd Shall we let them live forever shore- ] Jn their gilded halls of crime . . Where the old Chehalis river flows its way. J With our children doomed to toil beneath their goad? --wlw-- IV When our cause is all triumphant And we claim our ~other Earth, For every dollar the parasite has and didn't work for And the nightmare of the present fades away, there's a slave who worked for a liar he didn't get. We shall live with Love and Laughter, We who now are littlt! worth, 6 ' And we'll not r egret the price we have to pay. 7 THE INTERNATIONALE Fruits of the workers' toil a re buried In the strong coffers of a few; By Eugene Pottier In working for their restitution (Translated by 9 ha rles· H. Kerr) The men will only ask their due .. Arise, ye prisenors of starvation ! Toilers from shops and fields united, Arise, ye wretched of the earth, The -union we of all who work; For justice thunder s condemnation, The earth belongs to us, the workers, A better world's in birth. No room here for the shirk. No mor e tradition's chains shall bind us, How many on our flesh ha ve fattened! A1ise, ye slaves; n o more in thrall! But if the noisome birds of prey The earth shall rise on new foundat ions, Shall vanish from the sky some morning, We have been naught, we shall be all. The blessed sunlight still will stay. --wlw-- REFRAIN THE BANNER OF LABOR 'Tis the .finnl conflict, (TUNE : " The Star Spangled Banner" ) Let ench stnnd in his place, The lnduatrinl Union - "" Oh, say, can you h ear, coming near and .more near, · Shnll be the humnn rnce. The call now r esounding : "Come all ye who labor?" The Industrial band, throughout all the land "We want no condescending saviors, Bid toilers, remember each toiler his neighbor. To rule us from a judgment hall ; Come, workers, unite! 'tis Humanity's fight. \Ve workers ask not f or their favors; We call, you come forth in your manhood and might. Let us consult for all. To make the thief disgorge his booty CHORUiS To free the spirit from its cell, And the BANNER OF LABOR will surely soon wnve We must ourselves decide our duty, O'er the lnnd thnt ia free from the master and slave. We must decide and do it well. And the BANNER OF LABOR will surely soon wave O'er the land that is free from the master and slnve. The law oppresses us and tricks us, Wage systems drain our blood; The blood and the lives of children and wives The rich are free from obligations, A1·e ground into dollars for parasites' pleasure ; The laws the poor delude. Tne children now slave, till they sink in their grave- Too long we've languished in subjection, .That r obbers may fatten and add to their treasure. E guality has other laws; Will you idly sit by, unheeding their cry? "No rights," says she, "without their duties, 11r Arise ! Be ye men! See the battle draws nigh. No claims on equals without cause." J Long, long has the spoil of labor and toil Behold them seated in their glory, Been 'wrung from the workers by parasite classes; The kings of mine and rail and soil I While P overty gaunt, Desolation and Want What have you read in all their story, I Have dwelt in the bowels of earth's toiling masses. But how they plunder ed toil? Through bloodshed and tear s, our day star appears, INDUSTRIAL UNION, t he wage slave now cheers .. 8 9 4 - Et j~ HOLD THE FORT 'CHORUS: (English Transport Workers' Strike Song) Solidarity forever! We meet today in Freedom's cause ~olidarity forever! And r aise our voices high; Solidarity forever! We'll join our hands in union• strong, For the Union makes ua atrona-. To battle or to die. Is there aught we ly>ld in common with the greedy CHORUS: parasite Who would lash us into serfdom and .wo1:1ld crush us Hold the fort for we are coming­ with his might? Union men, be strong. J.s there anything left for us but to organize and fight? Side by aide we bnttle onward, For the Union makes us strong. Victory will come. It is we who plowed the prairies; built the cities where Look my Comrades, see the union they trade; : Banners waving high. Dtig the mines and built the workshops; endless miles Reinforcements now appearing, of railroad laid. Victory is nigh. Now we stand, outcast and stazying, 'mid the wonders See our numbers still incr easing; we have made; Hear the bugles blow. But the Union makes us strpng. By our union we shall ti;umph All the world that's owned by .idle drones, is ours and Over every foe. ours alone. Fierce and long the battle rages, We have laid the wide foundations; built it skyward But we will not fear, stone by stone. Help will come whene'er it's needed, It is ours, not to slave in, but to master and to own, Cheer, my Comrades, cheer. While the Union makes us strong. --wiw-- They have taken untold millions that they never toiled to earn. SOLIDARITY FOREVER ! But without our brain and muscle not a single wheel By Ralph Chaplin can turn. We can break their haughty power; gain our freedom (Tune: "J ohn Brown's Body") when we learn That the Union makes us strong. When the Union's inspiration through the work blood shall run, ) , Jn our hands is pla1:ed a power greater than their There can be no power brreater anywhere beneath hoarded gold; Greater than the might of armies, magnified a thousand­ sun. bl Yet what force on earth is weaker than the fee fold. strength of one ? We can bring to birth the new world from the ashe:s But the Union makes us strong. of the old, For the Union makes us strong. 10 11 THE DAWN OF FREEDOM WHAT WE WANT (Tune: "Till We Meet Again") By Joe Hill (Tune: "Rainbow") There's a new day of liberty dawning When sunbeams of Freedom shine true We want all the workers in the world to organize And the emblem of love, floats gently above. Into a great big union grand Hark I the message is calling to you. And when we all united stand The world for workem we'll demand. CHORUS: If the working class could only see and realize What mighty power labor bas Sona of toil! awake to liberty Then the exploiting master class Wield thy aword of Solidarity. It would soon fade away. Strike from bondage to be free. Take the world for all wbo labor. CHORUS: Dawn ia breakinir throuirh the gloomy night Spreadinr raya of liberty and liirht Come all ye toilers that work for wairea, That the wrong way may be made right in tbia world Come from eTel'J' land, ao fair. Join the figbtinir band, In one union irrand, I can see in the light of the morning Then for the workers we'll make upon tbia earth a A new social era draws near; paradiae ·Its glories sublime, in all hearts will shine When the alaTe• set wiae and oriranize. When there's no beastly rulers to fear. We want the sailor and the tailor and the lumberjacks, Rally on with the banner of freedom And all the cookl! and laundry girls, No longer to sweat in despair; We want the guy that dives for pearls, And the Heavens shall know we have conquered the foe The pretty maid that's making curls, When the Red Flag is thrown to the air. And the baker and the stoker and the chimneysweep, We want the man that's slinging hash, The child that works for little cash, --wlw-- In one union grand. We want the tinner and the s kinner and the chamber- maid, The present is distinctively an industrial epoch in We want the man that spikes on soles, world history. There can be no democracy in a world We want the man t hat's digging holes, We want the man that's climbing poles, ruled by industrial despots. The I. W. W. stands for the And the trucker and the mucker and the hired man And ull the factory girls and clerks, only REAL democracy-Industrial Democracy. Yes, we want every one that workfi, In one union grand. 13 12 THE CALIFORNIA PRISON SONG MY WANDERING BOY By William Whalen Where is my wandering boy tonight, The boy of his mother's pride? (Tune: "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Beys Are He's counting the ties with his bed on hi13 back, Marching") Or else he is bumming a ride. In the prison cell we sit CHORUS: Are we broken-hearted-nit- Oh, where is my boy tonight? We're as happy and as cheerful as can be; Oh, wltere is my boy tonight? For we know that every Woo He's on the head end of an overland train­ Will be busy on the Job, That's where you boy is toniirht. Till they swing the prison doors and set us free. His heart may be pure as the morning dew CHORUS: But his clothes are a sight to see. ' Are you busy, Fellow Workers, !!e's. pulled for a vag, his excuse won't do. Are your shoulders to the wheel? Thnty days," says the judge, you see. Get together for tne cause · 0 Oh, where is my boy tonight? And some dny you'll m11ke the laws, Oh, where is my boy tonight? It's the only Wily t!> make the masters sque;i.l. The chilly wind blows, to the lock-up he goes, Though the living is not grand, Thnt's where your boy is tonight. Mostly mush and "coffee and," "I was looking for work, Oh Judge," he said. It's as good as we expected when we came. Says the judge, " I have heard that before." It's the way they treat the slave So to join the chain gang far off-he is led In this free land of the brave, To hammer the rocks some more. There is no one but the working class t o blame. Oh, where is my boy tonight? When the 85 per cent Oh, where is my boy tonight? That they call the "working gent" To strike many blows f'or his country he goes, Organizes in a Union of its class That's where your boy i& tonight. We will then get what we're worth That will be the blooming earth. Don't .search for your wandering boy tonight, Grganize and help to bring the thing to ]')ass. Let him play the old game if he will- 1A worker, or bum, he'll ne'er be right, --wlw-- I So long's he's a wage slave still. "Yaas," said the farmer reflectively, "all the I. W. W. Oh, where is my boy tonight? fellers I've met seemed to be pretty decent lad.'l, but His money is "out of sight.'' Wherever he "blows," up agninat it he goes. them 'alleged I. W. W.'s must be holy flights." .L Here's luck!-to your boy tonight. 14 15 Poor Block, he died one evening, I'm very glad to state; MR. BLOCK He climbed the golden ladder up to the pearly gate. By Joe Hill He said, "Oh, Mr. Peter, one word I'd like to tell, I'd like to meet the Astorbilts and John D. Rockefell." (Air: "It Looks To Me Like a Big Time Tonight") Old Pete said, "Is that so? You'll meet them down below." Please give me your attention, I'll introduce to you A man that is a credit to "Our Red, w;J1ite and Blue;" His head is made of lumber, and solid as a l'Ock; --wiw-- He is a common worker and his name is Mr. Block. And Block he thinks he may THAT TUMBLE DOWN SHACK Be President some day. By George Lambert CHORUS: (Tune: "That Tumble-Down Shack In Athalone") Oh, Mr. Block, you were born by mistAke, You take the CAke, I have worked like a jack, You make me ache. For that tumble-down shack, Tie a rock on your block and then jump in the IAke, That you see standing up on the hill; Kindly do that for Liberty's 1Ake. I have worked like a ho!;l;, For the very same boss, Yes, Mr. Block is lucky; he found a job, by gee! That you see every day at the mill. The shark got seven dollars, f or job and fare. and ~ee.. When I walk down the track They shipped him to a desert and dumped hun with his To the tumble-down shack, truck, I have visions of prosperity, But when he tried to find his job, he sure was out of luck. Of rebuilding that shack, He shouted, "That's too· raw, When the boss pays me back, I'll fix them with the law." All the money he swindled from me. Block hiked back to the city, but wasn't doing well. When you're all organized, He said, "I'll join the union-the b'Teat A. F. of L." You will then be surprised, He got a job next morning, got fired in the night, At the changes we'll have at the mill. He said, "I'll see Sam Gompers and he'll fix that fore- All the strikes will be won man right." When we go out as one, Sam Gompers said, "You see, Our demands will be granted at will, You've got our sympathy." Then you'll walk down the track, Election day he shouted, "A Socialist for Mayor!" And tear down that old shack, The "comrade'' got elected, he happy was for fair, That is standing 'way up on the hill. But after the election he got an awful shock, With the money paid back, A great big Socialistic Bull did rap him on the block. We can build a new shack, And Comrade Block did sob, From the money we made at the mill. "I helped him to hiJI job." 16 17 ARE YOU A WOBBLY ? l'M TOO OLD TO BE A SCAB By Joe Foley By T-Bone Slim (Tune: "Are You From Dixie?" ) (Air: "Just Before the Battle, Mother")

Hello there, worker, how do you do? Good-bye, master, I must leave you, You';e up against it; broke, hungry, too. Something tells me I must go, Don't be surprised you're r ecognized, For you know I can't deceive you, I know a slave by the look in bis eyes. Going wage is too darn low. You want what I want--well, that's liberty, Yes, you say that you will feed me Your frowning face seems to tell it to me .. If I chop that hardwood cord; Where there's a will, Bill, there's a way, Bill, -Do not to temptation lead me, So listen to what I say: I'm not toiling for my board. CHORUS: Though my trials have been sundry, I must e'er disdain to moan Are you a Wobbly? Then listen, Buddy, And although I'm awful hungry, For the One Bia: Union beckons to you­ I would leave "your work" alone. The Workers' Union, the Industrial Union; Yes, I fear I cannot tarry- Tell every slave you see along the line: And I know just how you feel; It makes no difference what your color, But you see, if I'm to marry Creed or sex or kind, I must earn a double meal. If you are a worker, th~n it'•· kick right in and join. If I work fox: bread and lodging Become a Wobbly and then we'll probably While the sun is high and warm, Free O!Jraelves from slavery. It would cause me sundry dodging Through the winter\s cold and storm. You like the idea, but then you say, I· must have the all that's in it- "How can we do it--when is the day?" In the labor that I sell; When all the ladies and all the babies For you cannot tell what minute And every man who works for a wage It may start to rain like hell. Gets in the Union-One Union Grand- All hands together we'll make our demand; One more question, boss, one only­ When you and I, Bill, lay down our tools, Bill, As you count your wealth untold Fold up our arms, Bill, and walk off the job. Would you have me save bologny­ 'Gainst the day when I am old? --wlw-- Now we understand each other (As we play the game of grab) The workers can never be free until they blow the But, please do recall, "my brother" whistle for the parasites to go to work. I'm too old to be a scab.

18 ,,

WE HAVE FED YOU ALL FOR A THE WORKERS' MARSEILLAISE 'I'HOUSAND YEARS Ye sons of toil, awake to glory! Hark, hark, what myriads bid you rise; Poem-By An Unknown Proletarian Your children, wives and grandsires hoary­ Behold their tears and hear their crie,s I We have fed you all for a thousand years Behold their tears and hear their cries I And you hail us still unfed, Shall hateful tyrants mischief breeding, Though there's never a dollar of all your wealth With hireling hosts, a ruffian band­ But marks the workers' dead. Affright and desolate the land, We have yielded our best to give you r est While peace and liberty lie bleeding? And you lie on crim.son wool. Then if blood be the price of all your wealth, CHORUS: Good God! We have paid it tn full! · To arms! to arms 1 ye brave! Th' avenging sword unsheathe! There is never a mine blo\vn skyward now March on, march on, all hearts resolved But we' re buried alive for you. On Victory or Death. There's never a wreck drifts shoreward n ow But we are its ghastly crew. With luxury and pride surrounded, Go reckon our dead by the forges red The vile, insatiate despots dare, And the factories where we spin. Their thirst for gold and power unbounded If blood be the price of your cursed wealth To mete and vend the light and air, Good God! We have paid it in. To mete and vend the light and air Like beasts of burden would they load us, We have fed you all for a thousand years­ Like gods would bid their slaves adore, For that was our doom, you know, But man is man, and who is more ? From the days when you chained us in your fields Then shall they longer lash and goad us? To the strike of a week ago. 0 , Liberty, can man resign thee, You ha'\'e taken our lives, and our babies and wives Once having felt thy generous flame? And. we're told it's your legal share; ' Can dungeon's bolts and bars confine thee? But if blood be the price of your lawful wealth Or whips, thy noble spirit tame? Good God! We have bought it fair. Or whips, thy noble spirit tame? Too long the world has wept bewailing, --wlw-- That Falsehood's dagger tyrants wield; But Freedom is our sword and shield; And all their arts are unavailing! A shorter workday for all employed workers would put thousands of unemployed to work. If everybody --wlw-- worked there would be no poverty. One worker on the job is worth a dozen in the hall.

20 21 JOE HILL Murdered by the Authorities of the State of Utah, November 19, 1915

By Ralph Chaplin

High head and back unbending-fearless and true, Into the night unending; why was it you? Heart thnt wns quick with song, torn with their lead; Life that wns 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 dose 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?

23 22 J Workers of the world, awaken! WORKERS OF THE WORLD, AWAKEN Rise in all your splendid might; Take the wealth that you are making, By Joe Hill It belongs t o you by right. No one will for bread be crying, Workers of the world, awaken ! We'll have freedom, love and health, Break your chains, demand your rights. Wl1en the grand red flag is flying All the wealth you make is tak en In the Workers' Co•nmonwealth. By exploiting parasites. Shall you kneel in deep submission --wlw-- From your cradles to your grave s ~ Is the height of your ambition JOE HILL'S LAST WILL To be good and willing slaves? (Written in his cell, November 18, 1915, on the eve of CHORUS: his execution) Arise, ye prisoners of starvation! My will is easy to decide, Fight for your own emancipation; For there is nothing to divide. Arise, ye slaves of every nation, My kin don't need to hss and moan­ In One Union grand. " Moss does not cling to r olling stone." Our little ones for bread are crying, My body? Ah, if I could choose, And millions are from hunger dying; I would to ashes it reduce, The end the means is justifying, And let th e merry breezes blow 'Tis the final stand. My dust to where some flowers grow. Perhaps some fading flower then If the workers take a notion, Would come to life and bloom again. They can stop all speeding trains; This is my last and final will, Every ship upon the ocean Good luck to all of you, They can tie with mighty chains; -JOE HILL. Every wheel in the creation, Every mine and every mill, --wlw-- Fleets and armies of the nation, "For my part, I sympathize with them. While th ey are Will at their command stand still. threatened and imprisoned, I am manacled. If they are ~enied ~ living wage, I too am defrauded. While they are Join the union, fellow workers, ·ndustr1al slaves I cannot g o free. My hunger is not Men and women, side by side; satisfied while they are hindered and neglected. When We will crush the greedy shirkers they are flung out on a dese1t under a scorching sun I Like a sweeping, surging tide: too, burn, and my soul is athirst. When one of them' is For united we are standing, dragged from his bed and hung to a railroad trestle, a But divided we will fall : great horror of darkness falls upon my spirit, and from Let this be our understanding­ the depths of my heart I cry out against those who perse· "All for one and one for all."• cute the weak an d unf riended."-HELEN KELLER. 24 25 THE REBEL GIRL SHOULD I EVER BE A SOLDIER Words and Music by Joe Hill . By Joe Hill (Tune: "Colleen Bawn") Copyrighted, 1916 We're spending billions every year There are women of many descripticms For guns and ammunition, In this queer world, as everyone knows, " Our Army" and " Our Navy" dear Some are living in beautifgl mansions, To keep in good condition; And are wearing the finest of. clothes. While millions live in misery There are blue-blooded queens and. princesses, And millions die before us, Who have charms ma_de of diamond and pearl; Don't sing "My Country, 'tis of thee," But the only and thoroughbred lady But sing this little chorus: Is the Rebel Girl. CHORUS: CHORUS: Should I ever be a soldier, That's the Rebel Girl, that'.. the Rebel Girl! 'Neath the Red Fial' I would light; To the working class she's a precious pearl. Should the gun I ever shoulder, She brings courage, pride and joy It's to crush the tyran't'11 might. To the fighting Rebel Boy; Join the army of the toilers, We've had girls before,· but we need some m,,re Men and. women fall in line, fo the Industrial Workers of the Wo:-lr! Wage slaves of the world., arouse! For it's great to fight for freedom Do your duty for the cause, With a Rebel Girl. For Land and. Liberty. . Yes, her hands may be hardened from lab 1>r, And many a maiden, pure and fair, And her dress may not be very fine; Her love and pride must offer But a her i:! in her bosom is beating On Mammon's altar in despair, ~ That is true to her class and her kind. To fill the master's coffer. And the grafters in terror are trembling The gold that pays the mighty fleet , ·when her spite and defiance she'll hurl; From tender youth h e squeezes, For the only and thoroughbred lady While bra,vny men must walk the street Is the Rebel Girl. And face the wintry breezes. Why do they mount their gatling gun --wlw-- A thousand miles from ocean, Where hostile fleet could n ever run­ Words and music of "The Rebel Girl" may be obtained Ain't that a funny notion? in popular sheet form from the I. W. W·;.. ~ 3 33 Belmont If you don't know the reason why Avenue, Chicago, Illin0is. Just strike for better wages, And then, my friends-if you don't die­ I You'll sing this song for ages. 1 27 26 h 'f.HE HOPE OF THE AGES n hat matter if failure on failure Crowd closely upon us and press? By E. Nesbit When a hundred have bravely been beaten The hundred and first wins success. (Tune: "Three Cheers For the Red, White and Blue") Our watchword is "Freedom;" new soldiers Flock each day where her flag is unfurled, If you dam up the river of progress-­ Our cry is the cry of the ages, At your peril and cost let it be; Our hope is the hope of the world. That river must seawards despite you­ 'Twill break down your dams and be free; --wlw-- And we heed not the pitiful barriers That you in its way have down cast; ALL HELL CAN'T STOP US For your efforts but add to the torrent, Whose flood must overwhelm you at last. By Ralph Chaplin (Tune: "Hold the Fort") CHORUS: (?,~e final battle rages; For our banner ia raised and unfurled; Tv;tts quake with fear. At your head our defiance ia hurled; "'VouJ1 Rulers 'f the New Dark Ages Our cry ia the cry of the agea- Kno,J'HEIR end is near. Our hope ia the hope of the world. CHORUS: We laugh in the face of the forces Seo t take the crumbs they drop u1; That strengthen the flood they oppose; AU ; ours by right l For the harder oppression the fiercer Onw , men! All Hell can't atop ua ! The current will be when it flows. c::'b. the Parasite! We shall win, and the tyrant's battalions Will scatter like chaff in the fight, Wit!: a world-wide revolution From which the true Soldiers of Freedom B mg them to your feet! Shall gather new courage and might. Th,i of crime and persecution­ •'hcy must work to eat! Whether leading the van of the fighters, .'ear the mask of lies asunder; In bitterest stress of the strife; Let the truth be known; Or patiently bearing the burden Wiith a voice of angry thunder, Of changelessly commonplace life, .i. Rise and claim your own! One hope we have ever before us, Our aim to attain und fulfill. Down with Greed and Exploitation; One watchword we cherish to mark us, Tyranny must fall! One kindred and brotherhood still. Hail to Toil's Emancipation; Labor shall be all. 28 29

t • j HARVESTERS ! THERE 15 POWER IN A UNION (Tune: "Maryland") By Joe Hill (Tune: "There Is Power In the Blood") You harvest workers of this land, ) Organize, oh, organize. Would you have freedom from w:ige slavery, Its bulwark evermore to stand, Then join in the grand Industnal band; Organize, ob, organize. Would you from mis'ry and hunger be free, Then come, do your share, like a man. For with the flag of right unfurled, In spite of darts against you hurled, ' l CHORUS: You still must feed this hungry world: Organize, oh, organize. There is pow'r, there is pow'r In a band of workingmen, If you would come into your own, When they stand hand in hand, Organize, ob, organize. That'• a pow'r, that's a pow'r Or be forever overthrown, That must rule in every land­ Organize, oh, organize. One Industrial Union Grand. Yes, everywhere, throughout tb _d; Would you have mansions of gold in the sky, Together in one union stand; al And live in a shack, way in the back? And be a firm united band, Would you have wings up in heaven to fly? Orgnnize, oh, organize. And starve here with rags on your back? Firmly to stand against each w If you've had "nuff" of "the blo~d of the lamb" Organize, oh, organize. g, Then join in the grand Industnal band; Your only hope is union strong If, for a change, you would ha-..:e eggs and ham, Organize, oh, organize. Then come, do your share, like a man. To break the bands of slavery If you like sluggers to beat o~ your he.ad, That bind you now from sea to se. Then don't orgnnize, all umons despise, And from oppression set yeu free, If you want nothing before you are dead, , Organize, oh, organize. Shake hands with your boss and look wise. Your calling was the first on earth, Come, all ye workers, from every !and, Organize, oh, organize. Come join in the grand Industnal band, And now's the time to prove its worth J Then w~ our share of this earth shall demand. Organize, oh, organize. I Come on! Do your share, like a man. --wiw-- Then come you workers, good and true With good 6f all the world in view, Jf you would be infor~ed of the every-d!1Y struggles, The die is cast, it's up to you: the theory and ultimate aim of the Revolutionary Labor Organize, oh, organize. Movement, you must read INDUSTRIAL SOLIDARITY. 30 31 r

THE HARVEST WAR SONG SCISSOR BILL . By Pat Brennan By Joe Hill (Tune: "Steamboat Bill") (Tune: "Tipperary") You may ramble 'round the country anywhere you will, You'll always run across the same old Scissor Bill. We are coming home, John Farmer; we are coming back He's found on the desert, he is upon the hill, to stay. He's found in every mining camp and lumber mill. For nigh on fifty years or more, we've gathered up your He looks just like a hu.mani. he can eat and walk, hay. But you will find he isn't, when he starts to talk. w~ have slept out in your hayfields, we have heard your He'll say, "This is my country," with an ho~st face, morning shouts; While all the cops they chase him out of every place. We've heard you wondering where in hell's them pesky CHORUS go-abouts? Scissor Bill, he is a little dippy, CHORUS: Scissor Bill, he has a funny face. ,.,.-- Scissor Bill should 'drown in Mississippi, It's a long way, 11ow understand me; it's ~ long way He is the missing link that Darwin tried to trace. to town; It'• a long way across the prairie, and to hell with And Scissor Bill, he couldn't live without the booze, Farmer John. He sits around all day and spits tobbacco juice. Here goes for better wages, and the hours must come He takes a deck of cards and tries to beat the Chink! down; Yes, Bill would be a smart guy if he only could think. For we're out for a winter's atake this summer, and we And Scissor Bill he says: "The country must be freed want no scabs around. From Niggers, Japs an:d Dutchmen and the gol durn Swede." You've paid the going wages, that's what's kept us on the He says that every cop would be a native son bum· If it wasn't for the Irishman, the son-of-a-gun. You say y~u've done your duty, you chin-whiskered son-of·a-gun; CHORUS We have sent your kids to college, but still you rave Scissor Bill, the "foreigners" is cussin'; and shout, Sciis Or Bill, h e says: "I hate a Coon~'; And call us tramps and hoboes. and pesky go-abouts. Scissor Bill is down on everybody The Hottentots, the bushmen and the man in the moon. But now the \\intry breezes are a-shaking our poor r Don't try to talk your union dope to Scissor Bill, frames, He says he never organized and never ,.will. And the long·drawn days of hunger try to drive us boes He always '"ill be satisfied until he's dead, insane. With coffee and a doughnut and a lousy old bed. It is driving us to action-we are organized today; Anrl Bill, he says he gets rewarded thousand fold, Us pesky tramps and hoboe~ are coming back to stay. 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 going to Heaven, I'll go to Hell. 32 33 \ ...... u s .., __ ..__.. CHORUS CHORUS >r Scissor Bill, wouldn't join the union 'Cross the street a siglll he read, e Sc!ssor Bi.11, he says, "Not me, by H~ck!" "Work for Jesus," so it saie, my V' Scissor Bill gets his ;reward in Heaven 1 And he said, "Here is cha1tce, I'll surely try," Oh! sure. He'll get it, but he'll get in the neck. And he kneeled upon the floor, 'Tm his knees got rather sore, e But I don't care who knows it and right here I'll tell But at eating time he heard the preacher cry- If _Scissoi: Bill is goin' to He a~en, I'll go to Hell. ' Scissor Bill, he wouldn't join the union CHORUS • Sc~ ssor Bµ1, he sa~s, "Not me by heck!;' , Scissor Bill gets his reward in Heaven Down the street he met a cop, 011 ! sure. 'He'll get it, but he'll get it'in the neck. ARd the cOpJ'ler made him stop, are And he asked him, "When did you blow in.to town? ( Come with me up to the judge." ays. --wlw-- But the judge he said, "Oh fudge, Bums that have no money needn/t come around." me- THE TRAMP CHORUS •me By Joe Hill Finally came the happy day n, When his life did pass away, lf (Tune: "Tramp,Tramp,Tramp, the Boys Are Marching") He was sure he'd go to heaven~ when he died, When he reached the pearlygate, If you all will shut your trap Santa Peter, mean old skate, h I will tell you .'bout a chap, ' Slammed the gate right in his face and loudly cried: That was broke and up against it, too for fair· • He was not the kin,d that shirk ' ' --wlw-- " He was looking hard for work' But he heard the same old sto'ry everywhere. THE PREACHER AND THE SLAVE s CHORUS By Joe Hill Trn~p, tra?'lp, tramp, keep on a-tramping, (Tun.e: "Sweet Bye and Bye") Nothmg dou1,g here for you· Ii I c~tch you 'round again; Long-haired preachers come out every night, You will wear the ball and chain Try to tell you what's wrong and what's right; Keep on tramping, that's the b e~ t thing you can do. But whe1' asked how 'bout something to eat They will answer with voices so sweet: He walked up and down the street 'Till the shoes fell off his feet. ' CHORUS In a house he spied a lady cooking stew; You will eat, bye and bye, And he said, "How d'o you do In that glorious land above the skys ; May I chop some wood for ycfu?" Work and pray, live OD\ hay, What the lady told him made him feel so blue. You'll get pie in the sky when you die. 34 35 - The man he said, "The U. S. fleet, that is no place for And the starvatio11i army they play, slaves, And they sing and they clap and th~y pray. The only thing you have to do is stand a~d watch the Till they get all your coin on the drum, waves." . Then they tell you when you are on1 the bum: But in the morning, five o'clock, they woke me from my Holy Rollers and jumpers come out, snooze, And they holler, they jump and they shout. To scrub the deck anp polish brass and shine the "Give your money to Jesus," they say, captain's shoes. "He will cu.re all diseases today." One day a dude in uniform to me commenced to shout, If you fight hard for children and wife­ I simply plugged him in the jaw an~ knocked him Try to get something good in this life-­ down and out; You're a sinner and bad man, they tell, They slammed me right in irons then and said, "You are When you die you will sure go to hell. a case." I On bread and water then I lived for twemy-seven days. Workingmen! of all countries unite, Side by side we for freedom will fie-ht: One day the captain said, "Today I'll show you some­ When the world and its wealth we have gained thing nice, To the grafters we'll sing this refrain: All hands line up, we'll go ashore and have some exercise." LAST CHORUS He made us run for seven miles as fast as we could run, And with a packing on our back that weighed a half You will eat, bye and bye, a ton. Whelli you've learned how to cook and to fry Chop some wood, 'twill do you good, Some time ago when Uncle Sam he had a wa.r with And you'll eat in the sweet bye and bye. Spain, And many of the boys in blue were in the battle slain --wlw-- ~ "Not all were killed by bullets, though; no, not by any ~ 'J means, STUNG RIGHT ~'!'he biggest part that died were killed by Armour's By Joe Hill Pork and Beans. (Air: "Sunilight, Sunlight") --wlw-- When I was hiking 'r ound the town to find a job one day, I saw a sign/ "A thousand men are wanted right away," You cannot be free while your CLASS is enslaved. To take a trip around the world in Uncle Sammy's fleet, Join the I. W. W. and find YOUR place in the final I signed my name a dozen times upon. a great big sheet: battle for the emancipation of the world's workers.

CHORUS --wlw-- Stung right, stung right, S-T-U-N-G, Stung right, stung right, E . Z. Mark, that's me; Why do a shorter workday and a long pay always go When my term is over, and again I'm free, together? There will be no more trips around the world for me. 86 87 WHEN YOU WEAR THAT BUTTON HARK! THE BATILE CRY IS RINGING! (Tune: "When You Wore a Tulip") By H. S. Salt By Richard Brazier (Air: "l\:Iarch of the Men of Herlech") I met him in Dakl!lta when the harvesting was o'er Hark! the battle-cry is ringing l A "Wob" he was, I saw by the button that he wore. Hope within our bosoms springing, He was talking to a bunch of slaves in the jungles .. Rear the tracks; Bids us journey forward, singin g- J He said "You guys whose homes are on your backs; Death to tyrants' might! Why don't you stick t ogether with the "Wobblies" in Though we wield not spear nor sabre, o* band • We the sturdy sons of Labor, And fight to change conditions for the workers in this Helping every man hiS1 n eighbor, land. Shirk not from the fight! See our homes before us ; l CHORUS Wives and babes implore us; When you wear that button., the "Wobblies" r ed button So firm we stand in heart and hand, And carry their red, red card, And swell the dauntless chorus: No need to hike, boys, along these old pikes, boys, CHORUS: Every "Wobbly'' will be your pard. The boss will be leery, the "stiffs" will be cheery Men of Labor, young or hoary, When we hit J ohn Farmer hard Would ye win a name in story? They'll all be aff righted, when we stand united Strike for home, for life, for glory! And carry that Red, Red Card. Justice, Freedom, Right!

The stiffs all seemed delighted, when t hey heard him Long in wrath and desperation, talk that way. Long in hunger, shame, privation, They said, "We need more pay, and a shorter working Have we borne the degradation day." Of the rich man's spite; The "Wobbly" said "You'll get these things without the Now, disdaining useless sorrow, I sliglitest doubt Hope from brighter thoughts we'll borrow; T If you'll organize to knock the bosses out. Often shines the fairest morrow I If you'll ioin the One Big Union, and wear their badge After stormiest night. of liberty Tyrant hearts, take warning, You'll strike that blow all slaves must strike if they Nobler days are dawning ; would be free. Heroic deeds, sublimer creeds, Shall herald Freedom's morning ! --wlw-- If you would be informed of the every-day struggles, the theory and ultimate aim of the Revolutionary Labor Movement, you must read INDUSTRIAL SOLIDARITY. 38 39 TO FRANK H. LtITLE We'll remember you, Fra~k Little! They didn't come in the broad of day (Lynched at Butte, Montana, August 1, 1917) And warn you that in a world Being made safe for democracy There was no safety for you. In, th" dead of night they came And pounced on you, Dragged you out as if you were an animal Without daring to let you put your clothes on Or bind up your broken leg. They spared you no indignity, . ' They witheld from. yo·u no shame; Aftcrwnd, no doubt, they washed their hands With the air of men who've done their bit In the cause of freedom.

We'll remember you, Fran1k Little! The papers said: "So far as known, He made no outcry." No, not you! Half Iridian, half white man, All I. W.W. You'd have died a thousand- deaths Before yot.'d have cried aloud Or whimpered once to let them Enjoy your pain.

We'll remember you, Frank Little! Long after the workers have made the world Safe for Labor. We'll repent your name Al\'d remember that you died for us. The r ed flag that you dropped A million hands will carry on; The ca use that you loved We'll .remember you, Frank Little! A million tongues will voice. They cou1dn't still your voice, Good bye, Frank Little I So they strangled it; India~, white man, Wobbly true, They couldn't chill your heart, Valiant soldier of the great RI!~ Army, So they stopped it; We'll remember you! They couldn't dam your life blood, -Phillips Russell. So they spilled it.

40 41 WAGE WORKERS, COME JOIN THE UNION (Tune: "Battle Hymn of the Republic") FIFTY THOUSAND LUMBER JACKS We have seen the reaper toiling in the heat of summer (Tune: "Portland County Jail") sun, . Fifty thousand lumberjacks, fifty thousand packs, We have seen his children needy when the harvesting Firty thousand dirty rolls of bhmkets on their backs. was done, Fifty thousand minds made up to strike and strike like We have seen a mighty army dying, helpless, one by one, men; While their flag went marching on. Fer fifty years they've "packed" a bed, but never will CHORUS: again. Wage workers, come join the union! CHORUS: Wage workers, come join the -union! Wage workers, come join the union! "Such a lot of devils,"-that's what the papers say­ "They've gone on strike for shorter hours and some Industrial Workers of the World. increase in pay." 0, the army of the wretched, how they swarm the city They left the camps, the lazy tramps, they all walked out street-- as one; We have seem them in the midnight, where the Goths They say they'll will the strike or put the bosses on the and Vandals meet; bum." { We have shuddered in the darkness at the noises of their feet, Fifty thousand wooden bunks full of thiilgs that crawl; But their cause went marching on. Fifty thousand restless men have left them once for all. Our slavers' marts are empty, human flesh no more is One by one they dared not say, "Fat, the hours are long." If they did they'd hike-but now they're fifty thousand sold, Where the dealer's fatal hammer makes the clink of strong. leaping gold, Fatty Rich, we know you're game, know your pride is But the slavers of the present more relentless powers pricked. hold, Say-but why not be a man, and own when you are Though the world goes marching on. licked? But no longer shall the children bend above the whizzing They've joined the One Big Union-gee-for goodness' wheel, sake, get wise!" We will free the weary women from their bondage under The more you try to buck them now the more they steel; organize. In the mines and in the forest worn and helpless man Take a tip and start right in-plan some cozy rooms, shall feel Six or eight spring beds in each, with towels, sheets That the cause is marching on. l and brooms; Then lift your eyes, ye toilers, in the desert hot and dear, Shower baths for men who work keeps them well and fit; Catch the cool winds from the mountains. Hark! the . ,t... laundry, t oo, and drying room, would help a little bit. river's voice is near; Get some dishes, white and clean; good pure food to eat; Soon we'll rest beside the fountain and the dreamland See that cook has help enough to keep the table neat. will be here As we go marching on. Tap the bell for eight hours; treat the boys like men, 42 And fifty thousand lumberjacks may come to work again. 43 Men who work should be well paid-"A man's a man for "So tip your hat to a flag like that a' that." Thank God for its stripes and stars, Many a man has a home to keep same as yourself, Old Thank God you are here, where the roads are clear, Fat. A way from the kings and czars, Mothers, sisters, sweetheart.s, w~ves, children too galore And don't you speak of the bolshevik, Stand behind the men to Wln th1s bread and butter war. I'm sick of that stuff, I am- One God, one flag, that's the creed I brag, I'm boosting for Uncle Sam." --w1w-- REPLY The "foreign" man looked at Dan McGann, DAN McGANN And in perfect English, said: "I cannot see, for the life of me, By Dublin Dan What you have got in your head. You boast and brag 'bout the grand old flag Said Dan McGann to a foreign man, And the foes you put to rout, Who sat with him on a bench: When you haven't a pot in which to spit, "Let me tell you this," and for emphasis, Or a 'vindow to throw it out. He flourished a Stillson wrench, You howl and kick about the bolshevik, ''Don't talk to me of the bourgeoisie, The anarchist and W ob- Don't open your lips to speak You defend this rotten system when Of the socialist or the anarchist, You don't even own your job. Don't mention the bolshevik. "Immigration laws would be 'jake' with you "I've heard enough of your foreign stuff, If they kept out the Russian Finn, I'm as sick as a man can be The German Jew, and the Frenchman too, Of the speech of hate, and I'm telling you straight, And just let the Irish in; That this is the land for me; You're full of that religious bunk If you want to brag, take a look at our flag, And the priest on your life has a lease­ And boast of its field of blue, You're not even bleat, like some of the rest, Boast of the dead whose blood was shed With the sense that God gave geese; For the peace of the likes of you. You're a rank disgrace to the human race, You're one of those grand mistakes, "I'll have no more," and he waved once more Who came from the land, from which I understand, His wrench, in a forceful way, St. Patrick drove the snakes. "Of the cunning creed of the Russian breed, But I stand for the U. S. ·A. "The boss told you, and you think it's so, I'm sick of your fads and your wild-eyed lads, And I guess it is at that, Don't flourish your flag so red, That your bead is a place on the top of your face, Where I can see---0r at night there'll be. Which is meant to hold your hat. Tall candles around your head. If a thought ever entered your ivory dome- 44 • 45 THEY ARE ALL FIGHTERS Which I am inclined to doubt-- You would not rest till you'd done your best By Richard Brazier To drive the 'foreigner' out. (Tune: "San Antonio") You kick about the strangers here, There is a bunch of honest workingmen; But you give n<1 reason why- They're known throughout the land; And without these so-called 'foreigners,' They've seen the horror of the bull-pen, How would you get by? From Maine to the Rio Grande. They've faced starvation, hunger, privation; "You're working for an Englishman, Upon them soldiers were hurled. You room with a French Canuck, Their organization is known to the nation You board in a Swedish restaurant As The Industrial W,orkers of the World. Where a Dutchman cooks your chuck; Then hail to this fighting band! You buy your clothes from a German Jew, Good luck to their union grand! Your shoes from a Russian Pole, And you place your hope in a dago pope, CHORUS: To save your Irish soul. They're all fighters from the wo'rd go, You're an 18-carat scissorbill, And to the master You're a regular brainless gem- They'll bring disaster. But the time's at hand when you'll have to stand And if you'll ;oin them For the things you now condemn. They'll let you know Just the reason why the bou must go. "So throw away your Stillson wrench, They've faced the Pinkertons and Gatling guns You booster for Uncle Sam, In defense of their natural rights; For the language you use, when you're full of booze, They proved themselves to be labor's sons Doesn't scare me worth a damn- In all of the workers' fights; Go fight and be damned, for your glorious flag, They have been hounded by power unbounded And the boss who is robbing you; Of capitalists throughout the land, One Union Grand, that's where I stand; But all are astounded, our foes are confounded ii I'm boosting the 0. B. U." For we still remain a union grand. Then hail to this fighting band! --wiw-- I Good luck to their union grand! You live on coffee and on doughnuts; The purpose of the I. W. W: is ~o organize ~h e W

50 Ill L "MIGHT IS RIGHT'' Might is Right when children die By thousands in the mills, By Covington Hall When jeweled hands reach down and take The gold their blood distills; And Might is Right when maidens give Might was right when Christ was hanged Their love-dreams up for pay Beside the Jordan's foam; "'Tis the logic of the Ancient World, Might was right when Gracchus bled, And the Gospel of today." Upon the stones of Rome; And Might wa.s Right when Danton fell, Might was, it is, it e'er will be, When Emmet passed away- The One and Only Right; " 'Tis the logic of the Ancient World, And so, 0 hosts of Toil awake! 0 workingmen, unite I ,. And the Gospel of today." Unite! Unite! For Might is Right, Might was Right when Spartacus 'Tis Freedom's only way- Went down in seas of blood, "'Tis the logic of the Ancient World, And when the Commune perished And the Gospel of today." In the selfsame crimson flood; --wiw-- And Might was Right at Cripple Creek, A CALL TO ACTION At Tampa, Homestead-yea! "'Tis the logic of the Ancient World, (Tune: "Smilefl") And the Gospel of today." Workers, now I know, what will make the union grow: Might was Right when Parsons died, Agitation, education, will defeat the foe. When Ferrer followed him, Workers, don't you see, you must make your own selves .When Cole's young life was beaten out free, In Spokane's dungeon grim; Do get wise and organize and strike for liberty. And Might was RigP,t when Pettibone Went stagg'ring down death's way­ CHORUS: " 'Tis the logic of the Ancient World, We'll no longer work for wagea, we'll just take all we And the Gospel of today." produce; We have been wage alavea all through the ages, Might was Right when Morgan builds We ouraelvea muat break the fetters loose. A hell 'round every hearth ; ,,.-I Then we will no longer heed the masters, Might is Right when Kirby starves Our defiance at them we will hurl, His peons off the earth; And we'll bid good-bye to all wage slavery And Might was Right when Dietz became And the red flag we will unfurl. Wolf Weyerhauser's prey- " 'Tis the logic of the Ancient World, Masters boast in vain one big union's on the wane, And the Gospel of today." But the shirkers will be workers under Labor's r eign; Toilers don't despair, we have but t o do our share, Agitating, educating, we must do and dar e. ~ I 52 j 53 THE RED FEAST WE WILL SING ONE SONG By Joe Hill By Ralph Chaplin (Air: "My Old Kentucky Home") Go fight, you fools ! Tear up the earth with strife We will sing one song of tpe meek and humble slave, And spill each other's guts upon the field; The horny-handed son of the soil, Serve unto death the men you served in life He's toiling hard frem the cradle to the ~v!!• l So that their wide dominions may not yield. 13ut his master r eaps the profits of hIS toil. ' Then we'll sing one song of the greedy maister class, Stand by the flag-the lie that still allures; They're vagrants in broadcloth, indeed, Lay down your lives for land you do not own, !- They live by robbing the ever-toiling mass, And give unto a war that is not yours; Human blood they spill to satisfy their greed. Your gory tithe of mangled fl esh and bone. CHORUS: But whether in the fray to fall or kill G>rganize ! 0, toilers, come organize your might; You must not pause to question why nor where. Then we'll sing one song of the 1Workera' Commonwealth You see the tiny crosses on that hill? - Full of beauty, full of lov.e and health. It took all those to make one millionaire. We will sing one song of "the. politician sly, H e's talking of changing the laws; It was for him the seas of blood were shed Election day all the drinks and smokes he'll buy, That fields were razed and cities lit the sky; While he's living from the sweat of your brow. That he might come to chortle o'er the dead­ Then we'll sing one song of the girl below the line, The condor Thing for whom the millions die! She's scorned and despised everywhere, The bugle screams, the cannons cease to roar. While in their mansions the "keepers" wine and dine "Enough! enough! God give us peace again." From the profits that immoral· traffic b ear. The rats the maggots and the Lords of War We will sing one song of the preacher, fat and sleek, Are f~t to bursting from their meal of men. He .tells you of homes in the sky. He says, "Be generous, be lowly and be meek, . ,, So stagger back, you stupid dupes who've "won," If yeu don't you'll sure get roasted when you die. Back to your stricken towns to toil anew, Then we'll sing one song of the poor and ragged tramp, For there your dismal tasks are still undone He carries hiR home on his back; And grim Starvation gropes again for you. Too old to work, he's not wanted 'round the camp, What matters now your flag, your race, the skill So he wanders without aim along the track. Of scattered legions--what has been the gain? We will sing one song of the children in the mills, Once more ben eath the lash you must distil They're taken from playgrounds and schools. Your lives to glut a glory wrought of pain. In tender years made to go the pace that kills, In the sweatshops, 'mong the looms and the spools. In peace they starve you to your loathsome toil, Then we'll sing one song of the One Big Union Grand, In war they drive you to the teeth of Death; The hope of the toiler and slave, And' when your life-blood soaks into their soil It's coming fast; it is sweeping sea and land, They give you lies to choke your dying breath. To the terror of the grafter and the knave. 55 54 So will they smite your blind eyes until you see, Rise in your might, brothers, bear it no longer; And lash your naked backs until you know Assemble in masses throughout the whole land; That wasted biood can never set you free S11ow these incapables who are the stronger From fettered thraldom to the Common Foe. When workers and idlers confronted shall stand. Thro' Castle, Court and Hall, Then you will find that "nation" is a nam~ Over their acres all, And boundaries are things that don't exist; l Onward we'll press like waves of the sea, That Labor's bondage, world-wide, is the same, Claiming the wealth we've made, And ONE the enemy it must resist. Ending the spoiler's trade; Labor shall triumph and mankind be free. --wlw-- --wlw-- HARVEST LAND By T·D and H. WORKERS OF THE WORLD (Air: "Beulah Land") The harvest drive is on again, By Connell John Farmer needs a lot of men; (Air: "Lillibulero") To work beneath the Kansas heat And shock and stack and thresh his wheat. Stand up, ye toilers, why crouch ye like cravens? CHORUS: Why clutch an existence of insult and want? Oh, Farmer John-poor Farmer John, Why stand to be plucked by an army of ravens, Our faith in you is overdrawn. Or hoodwink'd forever by twaddle and cunt? -Old Fossil of the Feudal Age, Think of the wrongs ye bear, Your only creed is Going' Wage- Think of the rugs ye wear. " Bull Durham" will not buy our Brawn­ Think of the insults endur'd from your birth; Y ou're out of luck-poor Farmer Jawn." Toiling in snow and rain, Rearing up h eaps of grain, You advertise, in Omaha, All for the tyrants who grind you to earth. l "Come, leave the Valley of the Kaw." Nebraska calls, "Don't be misled," Your brains are as keen as the braini> of your musters, "We'll furnish you a feather bed!" In swiftness and strength ye surpass them by far; Ye've braves to teach you to laugh at disasters, Then South Dakota "lets a roar," Ye vastly outnumber your tyrants in war. "We need ten thousand men-or more;" Why, then, like cowards stand, Our grain is turning-prices drop! Using not brain or hand, For God's sake save our bumper crop." Thankful like dogs when they throw you ·a bone? What right have they to take In North Dakotn-(I'll be darn) Things that you t oil to make? The "wise guy" sleeps in "hoosier's" barn Know ye not, workers, that all is your own? -Then hoosier breaks into his snore And yells, "It's quarter after four." 56 57 Casey Jones got a job in heaven· Casey Jones was doinir miirhty line· ' CHORUS: Casey Jones went scabbing on' the I Ob, Harvest Land-Sweet Burning Sand! Just Jike he did to workers OD the sangpe SI~ -As on the sun-kiued field I ,.tand Th I • . ane. I look away across the pl.. in Fo: c~:ys J~~e!ofoether, and they said it wasn't fair, And wonder if it'• going to rain- The Angels Union N~o 2~roJind a-scabbing everywhere. 1 vow, by all the Brands of Cain, And they promptly fi~ed C ey sdure were there, That I will not be here agnin. asey own the Golden Stair. --wlw- "C ~asey Jones went to Hell a-flying asey ones," the Devil said, "Oh line·. CASEY JONES-THE UNION SCAB Casey J.;;:e•: get busy shoveling sulphur~ atl~ w~~t you aet for scabbing on the S P By Joe Hill ane. · • The Workers on the S. P. line to strike sent out a call; --wlw-­ But Casey Jones, the engineer, he wouldn't strike at all; WORKINGMEN, UNITE His boiler it was leaking, and its drivers on the bum, And his engine and its bearings, they were all out of By E. S. Nelson (Tune: "Red Wing") plumb. · CHORUS: Conditions they are bad Casey Jones kept his junk pile running; And some of you are sad. Casey Jones wns working double time; You cannot see your ene~y Casey Jone• got a wooden medal, ~he class that lives in luxucy For being good and faithful on the S. P. line. ~u workingmen are poor- · The workers said to Casey: "Won't you help us win this Will be for evermore- As Ion~ as you permit the few strike 1" But Casey said: "Let me alone, you'd better take a To guide your destiny. hike." CHORUS: Then Casey's wheezy engine ran right off the wom·out ~h~ll we still be slaves and work for wages? track, t ~· outrageous-bu been for a e.. And Casey hit the river with an awful crack. !h•~ earth by right belongs to tofle;a n not to spoilers of liberty. ' Casey Jones hit the river bottom; Casey Jones broke his blooming spine, The master class is small Casey Jones was an Angeleno, But they ha".'e lots of "g~ll." He took a trip to heaTen on the S. P . line. When we umte to gain our ri ht ¥h they; resist ~ve'll use our mfg ht ; When Casey Jones got up to heaven to the Pearly Gate, ~re IS no middle ground, He said: "I'm Casey Jones, the guy that pulled the T fhis .fight must be one round S. P. freight." o victory? for liberty, · "You're just the man," said Peter; "our .musicians went Our class 1s marching on ! on strike; 5!) You can get a job a-scabbing any time y ou like." 58 workingmen, unite! We must put up a fight, DUMP THE BOSSES OFF YOUR BACK To make us free from slavery And capitalistic ~yrani:iy ; By John Brill This fight is not m vam! We've got a world to gnm. ? (Tune: "Take It to the Lord in Prayer") Will you be a fool, a capitalist tool . .j Are you poor, forlorn and hungry? And serve your enemy? Are there lots of things you lack? --wiw-- Is your life made up of misery? THE WHITE SLAVE Then dump the bosses off your back. Are your clothes all patched and tattered ? By Joe Hill Are you living in a shack? (Air: "Meet Me Tonight In Dreamland") Would you have your troubles scattered ? One little girl, fair as a pearl, Then dump the bosses off your back. Worked every day in a laundry; . Are you almost split asunder? All that she made, for food she paid, Loaded like a long-eared jack? So she slept on a park bench so soundly; Boob-why don't you buck like thunder? An old procuress spied her there, And dump the bosses off your back. She came and whispered in her ear: All the agonies you suffer, CHORUS: You can end 'vith one good whack­ Come with me now, my girly, Stiffen up, you orn'ry duffer- Don't sleep out in the cold; Your face and treaaes curly And dump the bosses off your back. Will brinii you fame and gold, . Automobiles to ride in, diamoz_id1 and 11lk. to wear, --wiw-- You'll be a star bright, down JD the red hght, you'll make your fortune there. "THE POPULAR WOBBLY" Same little girl, no more a pearl, Walks all alone 'long the river; . By T-Bone Slim Five years have flown, her health ls. gone, (Air: ·"They Go Wild, Simply WJld Over Me") She would look at the water and shiver; Wbene'er she'd stop to rest and sleep, I'm as mild manner'd man as can be She'd hear a voice call from the deep: And I've never done them harm that I can see, Still on me they put a ban and they threw me in the can: Girls in this way, fall every day, They go wild, simply wild over me. And have been falling for ages,. • Who is to blame? You know .his name, They accuse me of ras--cal-i-ty It's the boss that pays starvation wages.• But I can't see why they always pick on me, A homeless girl can always hear I'm as gentle as a lamb, but they take me for a ram: Temptations calling everywhere. They go wild, simply wild over me. 60 61 Ob the "bull" he went wild over me, ONE BIG INDUSTRIAL UNION And be held bis gun where everyone could see, He was breathing rather hard when he saw my union By G. G. Allen card- He went wild, simply wild over me. (Air: "Marching Through Georgia") 'Jlhen the judge, he went wild over me, And I plainly saw we never could agree, Bring the good old r ed book, boys, we'll sing another So I let the man obey what his conscienee had to say, song- He went wild, simply wild over me. Sing it to the wage slave who has not yet joined the throng; Oh the jailer, he went wild over me, Of the revolution that will sweep the world along, And be locked me up and threw away the key- To One Big Industrial Union. It seems to be the rage so they keep me in a cage, They go wild, simply wild over me. CHORUS: They go wild, simply wild over me. Hurray! Hurray! The truth will make you free­ I'm referring to the bedbug and the flea- Hurray ! Hurray! When will you workers aee? They disturb my slumber deep and I murmur in my sleep, The only way you' ll gain your economic liberty, They go wild, simply wild over me. la One Big Industrial Union. Even God, he went wild over me, --wiw-- This I found out when I knelt upon my knee, Did he hear my humble yell? No, he told me " Go to hell," You migratory workers of the common labor clan, He went wild, simply wild over me. We sing to you to join and be a fighting Union .Man; You must emancipate yourself, you proletarian, Will the roses grow wild over me With One Big Industrial Union. When I'm gone to the land that is to be? When my soul and body part in the stillness of my heart, --wiw-- Will the roses g row wild over me ? THE "BLANKET STIFF" --wlw-- He built the road, The present is distinctively an industrial epoch in world With others of his class he built the road. history. There can be no democracy in a world ruled by Now o'er it, many a weary mile, he packs his load industrial despots. The I. W. W: stands for the 11

The workers' fl ag is deepest red, Workers of the world: you know these It shrouded oft our martyred dead; songs. There is not a land where capital· And ere their limbs g rew stiif and cold ism exists into which I. W.W. songs have Their life-blood dyed its every fold. not found their way. There is not a strike CHORUS: of class-conscious workers anywhere in T he n raiae the scarlet standard high ; which they are not heard. Workers are Be neath its fold5 we'll live and die, united in feeling, even as they unite their T hough cowarcla flinch and tr aitors sn eer, voices in the singing of songs "To Fan The W e'll keep the red flag flying here. Flames of Discontent." Look 'round, the Frenchmar_i loves. its blaze Now make this unity real, and make The sturdy German chants its prmse; your discontent heeded by uniting your In Moscow's vaults its hymns are sung, power on the job as you have united your Chicago swells its surging song. wishes and aspirations in "Solidarity For· It waved above our infant might . ever." .Make "The Internationale" a real· When nil ahead seemed dark as mght; ity; make the industrial union actually the It witnessed many a deed and vow, whole human race. .Make all prison songs We will not change its color now. unnecessary. It can only. be done if we It suits today the meek an d base, all come together, organized, ready to put Whose minds are fixed on pelf and place, an end to capitalism and make the world To cringe beneath the rich man's frown, something worth singing about. And hnol that sacred emblem down. If you are not already in the Industrial With bends uncovered swear we all, To bear it onward till we fall ; . Workers of the World, get in. If you are Come dungeons dark or itS;llows gnm, a member now, bring your fellow working. This song shall be our parting hymn. man into it; make him a real Fellow Work· er, building the "Commonwealth of Toil / That Is To Be." You can do it. So do it. Addreaa lnduatrial Worken of the World, 64 ( 3333 Belmont Avenue, Chicago, Jllinoia.