Tlie wdrliing class and the employing class have nothing ;fc;;coha'mon ■There can he no, peace so long as '-hunger ..ana vwn.nt^are-inillions of working peopl-e,. and the 'ff e%; :‘WhO’ employing class, have-all the goo# -Of 'lifei.■ ' ■■ ■ , -130^00% these/t classes a struggle must go on until , the workOrs..^,;o^^^ world organize as a class, take posses- - . Edok, Of The \ea,rth and the machinery, of. production and ' :ahoiiS.h the " wage - sy^ _ . ; ^ , Wk^nd that the centering of the management of indus- :;’tries.ipto fewer and fewer hands makes the trades, unions ^mhahle 'to wpe^^ the ever-growing power of the employ- ,Oihg.;iip .,^'kn^strtes, ifi'hecessary, cease, ivbrk whenever a ;:tst!rl^:^nbchpiit is on, in any department thereof, thus- injury to one an‘:ihjury to: all. ‘ • , -. h , . Instead'- of . the obnserva tive mottoj “A fair day’s wages 1 fbh^ must inscribe’ on our banner V .ilmVtekb.lutionary watchword, “Abolition of the wage sys- -k v'-y ■ is'ithe.''histofic-miss of the working class to” do •kWay, wip^’Gapi The array of production must l^^ cr^ak'1^^1 the everyday struggle with captr 'vta\lktek4^Utoals.o.;: carry on production , when capitalism ■' pverthr By organizing industrially ■>-W''e: -AkeVfkt'mingvthe structure of the new society within the •p- • a-'-' •-'•‘/v.I Songs of the Workers BUBLISHED BY Seattle Locals of the L W. W. NEARER MY JOB TO THEE. Words by J. H. of the I. W. W. Nearer my job to thee, Nearer with glee, Three plunks for the office fee, But my fare is free. My train is running fast. I’ve got a job at last. Nearer my job to thee Nearer to thee. Arrived where my job should be. Nothing in sight I see. Nothing but sand, by gee. Job went up a tree. No place to eat or sleep. Snakes in the sage brush creep. Nero a saint would be. Shark, compared to thee. Nearer to town! each day (Hiked all the way), Nearer that agency. Where I paid my fee. And when that shark I see ; You’ll bet your boots that he , Nearer his god shall be. Leave that to me. 1 r INDEX Page Nearer My Job to Thee. 1 Master, Beware! . 3 In the Cold Old Winter Time.... 4 Casey Jones . 5 The Red Flag .:. 6 The International ........ 7 The Banner of Labor. 8 Should I Ever Be a Soldier .... 9 The Marseillaise . 10 Hark! The Battle Cry Is Ringing. 11 A Song for the Wage Slaves... 12 What We Want. 13 The Roll Call ...... 14 My Wandering Boy . 15 Coffee And . 16 The Hope of the Ages. 17 Down in the Old, Dark Mill. 18 Workingmen Unite . 19 That Old Red Button. 20 Scissor Bill . 21 Mr. Block.. 22 Stand Up, Ye Workers. 23 They Are All Fighters. 24 Wage Workers, Come Join the Union. 25 A Dream .. 26 Stung Right . 27 The Bone Head Working Man... 28 The Old Toilers’ Message..... 28 Oh, Working Men . 29 The Preacher and the Slave. 30 There Is Power in a Union..... 31 A Parody on J. D...... 32 'Song of the “Scissorbill”... 32 Walking on the Grass. 33 It is the Union..... 34 m The Girl Question. 35 9 Page The White Slave .-. 36 Everybody’s Joining It . 37 We Are the Only Union . 38 We Will Sing One Song. 39 Workers of the World, Unite. 40 Ship Out . 41 The Blanket Stiff. 41 Out in the Bread Line. 42 Where the Fraser River Flows. 43 Might Is Right. 44 Unite! Unite! . 45 The Tramp . 46 Come and Get Wise. 47 Hold the Fort . 48 MASTERS BEWARE. Tune: “Down in the Deep.) Over the hills with their blankets they go Into the woods and the mines down below, Blazing the trails, laying the rails, Piercing the mountains, onward they go Chorus: Masters Beware. Masters take care. The wage slaves are joining this one union grand. So Beware! Beware! the wage slaves are joining this one union grand, So Beware! Beware! He sails over the seas to far distant lands, Piling up wealth on every hand. Building great castles and mansions so grand. Yet robbed of his Avealth by an exploiting band. Yet locks, bolts and bars do not prisons make When man he strikes for freedom’s sake. The industrial union bids ye slaves arise And the earth Avill be yours if you’ll only get Avise. r IN THE COLD OLD WINTER TIME. There is a time in each year that the working class fear. It’s the cold old winter time When the cold, chilly breeze makes them shiver and freeze In the cold, old winter time. They work all summer long for a system that’s wrong And for masters that treat them like swine. Then they come to the city. They’re objects of pity In the cold old winter time. Chorus: ' In the cold old winter time, In the cold old winter time. They feed you on religion and soup kitchens and bread lines Salvationists and volunteers and rollers all live fine. You’re the only one that’s on the bum In the cold old winter time. They work you like mules and treat you like fools Tn the cold old winter time. tWith Jim, Jack and Bill shovelling snow for Jim Hill In the cold old winter time. * You ripen the melons for others to eat And all you receive is the rind. Why don’t you get wise, with the boys organize In the cold old winter time. There’s a time near at hand when throughout this broad'— land In the cold old winter time There will he no more bums; there will be no more slums ! In the cold old winter time. or>/n, : We will tear down this system that capital built And the heights of ambition we’ll climb. VcU Shorter hours and better pay is our motto today In the cold old winter time. In the cold old winter time ^ ^ With the workers all in line We’ll make the drones and lazy bones and bosses come to time. When capital is down and out, then labor’s sun will shine * And the boss will work or starve to death In the cold old winter time. CASEY JONES—THE UNION SCAB. (By J. Hill.) The Workers on the S. P. line to strike sent out a call; But Casey Jones, the engineer, he wouldn’t strike at all; His boiler it was leaking, and its drivers on the bum, And his engine and its bearings, they were all out of plumb. Chorus. Casey Jones kept his junk pile running; Casey Jones was working double time; Casey Jones got a wooden medal. For beipg good and faithful on the S. P. line. The Workers said to Casey: “Won’t you help us win this strike?” But Casey said: “Let me alone, you’d better take a hike.” Then some one put a bunch of railroad ties across the track. And Casey hit the river with an awful crack. Casey Jones hit the river bottom; Casey Jones broke his blooming spine; Casey Jones was an Angeleno, He took a trip to heaven on the S. P. line. When Casey Jones got up to heaven, to the Pearly Gate, He said: “I’m Casey Jones, the guy that pulled the S. P. freight.’' “You’re just the man,” said Peter; “our musicians went on strike; You can get a job a’scabbing any time you like.” Casey Jones got a job in heaven; Casey Jones was doing mighty fine; Casey Jones went scabbing on the angels, Just like he did to workers on the S. P. line. The angels got together, and they said it wasn’t fair. For Casey Jones to go around a’scabbing everywhere. The Angels’ Union No. 23, they sure were there. And they promptly fired Casey dov/n the Golden Stair. Casey Jones went to Hell a’flying. “Casey Jones,” the Devil said, “Oh fine; Casey Jones get busy shoveling sulphur; That’s what you get for scabbing on the S. P. line.” r THE RED FLAG. (By James Connell.) The Workers’ flag is deepest red. It shrouded oft our martyred dead; And ere their limbs grew stiff and cold Their life-blood dyed its every fold. Chorus. Then raise the scarlet standard high Beneath its folds, we’ll live and die. Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer, We’ll keep the red flag flying here. Look ’round! the Frenchman loves its blaze. The sturdy German chants its praise; In Moscow’s vaults, its hymns are sung, Chicago swells its surging song. ♦ o It waves above our infant might When all ahead seemed dark as night; j( -oi It witnessed many a deed and vow, We will not change its color now. It suits today, the meek and base Whose minds are fixed on pelf and place; To cringe beneath the rich man’s frown. And haul that sacred emblem down. With heads uncovered, swear we all. To bear it onward till we fall; Come dungeons dark, or gallows grim. This song shall be our parting hymn! “The poor—is any country his? What are to me youi glories and your industries—they are not mine.” ni ov 6 THE INTERNATIONALE. (Translated by Charles H. Kerr.) (By Eugene Pettier.) Arise, ye prisoners of starvation! Arise, ye wretched of the earth, For justice thunders condemnation, A better world’s in birth. No more tradition’s chains shall bind us, Arise, ye slaves; no more in thrall! The earth shall rise on new foundations. We have been naught, we shall be all- Refrain: ’Tis the final conflict. Let each stand in his place. The Industrial Union Shall be the human race. We want no condescending saviors. To rule us from a judgment hall; We workers ask not for their favors; Let us consult for all. To make the thief disgorge his booty To free the spirit from its cell, We must ourselves decide our duty. We must decide and do it well. The law oppresses us and tricks us. Wage systems drain our blood; The rich are free from obligations, The laws the poor delude. Too long we’ve languished in subjection. Equality has other laws; “No rights,’’ says she, “without their duties. No claims on equals without cause.” Behold them seated in their glory. The kings »f mine and rail and soil? What have you read in all their story. But how they plundered toil? (Over.) 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 Avork; The earth belongs to us, the workers; No room here for the shirk. How m^any on our flesh ha^m fattened! But if the noisome birds of prey Shall vanish from the sky some morning, The blessed sunlight still will stay. I I ^ THE BANNER OF LABOR. ■ (T une: “Star Spangled Banner.”) Oh, say, can you hear, coming near and more near ‘The call now resounding: “Come all ye who labor?” iThe Industrial band, throughout the land jBid toilers remember each toiler’s his neighbor. ':Come, workers, unite! ’tis Humanity’s fight. , We call, you come forth in your manhood and might. Chorus. And the BANNER OF L,4ROR will surely soon wave O’er the land that is free, from the master and slave. And the BANNER OF LABOR will surely soon wave O’er the land that is free, from the master and slave. The blood and the lives of children and wives Are ground into dollars for parasites’ pleasure; The children now slave, till they sink in their grave— That robbers may fatten and add to their treasure. Will you idly sit by, unheeding their cry? Arise! Be ye men! See, the battle draws nigh! Long, long has the spoil of labor and toil Been wrung from the workers by parasite classes; While Poverty gaunt. Desolation and Want Have dwelt in the bowels of earth’s toiling masses. Through bloodshed and tears, our day star appears, INDUSTRIAL UNION, the wage slave now cheers. 8 should I EVER BE A SOLDIER (Words by J. Hill.) (Tune:. “Colleen Bawn/’) We’re spending billions every year For guns and ammunition, “Our Army” and “our Navy” dear, To keep in good condition; While millions live in misery And millions died before us. Don’t sing “My Country ’Tis of Thee,” But sing this little chorus. Chorus. Should 1 ever be a soldier, ’Neath the Red Flag I would fight; Should the gun I ever shoulder. It’s to crush the tyrant’s might. .Join the army of the toilers. Men and women fall in line. Wage slaves of the world! Arouse! Do your duty for the cause, For Land and Liberty. And many a maiden, pure and fair. Her love and pride must offer On Mammon’s altar in despair. To fill the master’s coffer. The gold that pays the mighty fleet, From tender youth he squeezes. While brawny meti must walk the street And face the wintry breezes. Chorus. Why do they mount their gatling gun A thousand miles from ocean. Where hostile fleet could never run— Ain’t that a funny notion? If you don’t know the reason whj% Just strike for better wages. And then, my friends—if you don’t die— You’ll sing this song for ages. 9 THE 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! The avenging sword unsheathe! March on, march on, all hearts resolved On Victory or Death, With luxury and Pride surrounded. The vile, insatiate despots dare. Their thirst for gold and power unbounded To mete and vend the light and air. To mete and vend the light and air. Like beasts of burden would they load us. Like gods would bid their slaves adore. But Man is Man, and who is more? Then shall they longer lash and goad us? O, Liberty! can man resign thee? Once having felt thy generous flame. Can dungeon’s bolts and bars confine thee? Or whips, thy noble spirit tame? Or whips, thy noble spirit tame? Too long the world has wept bewailing. That Falsehood’s dagger tyrants wield. But Freedom is our sword and shield; And all their arts are unavailing! 10 HARK! THE BATTLECRY IS RINGING! (Air: “March of the Men of Harlech/’) (By H. S. Salt.) Hark! the l)attle-cry is ringing! Hope within our hosoms springing, Bids us journey forward, singing— Death to tyrants’ might! Tho’ we wield not spear nor sabre. We the sturdy sons of Labor, Helping ev’ry man his neighbor. Shirk not from the fight! See our homes before us! Wives and babies implore us; So firm we stand in heart and hand. And swell the dauntless chorus. Chorus, Men of Labor, young or hoary. Would ye win a name in story? Strike for home, for life, for glory! Justice, Freedom, Right’ Long in wrath and desperation, Long in hunger, shame, privation. Have we borne the degradation Of the rich man’s spite; Now, disdaining useless sorrow. Hope from brighter thoughts we’ll borrow; Often shines the fairest morrow After stormiest night. Tyrant hearts, take warning. Nobler days are dawning; Heroic deeds, suhlimer creeds. Shall herald Freedom’s morning! 11 r A SONG FOR THE WAGE SLAVE Long in their bondage the people have waited Lulled to inaction by pulpit and press; Hoping their wrongs would in time he abated, Trusting ihe ballot to give them redress. Vainly they trusted; a high court’s decision Swept the last bulwark of freedom away; The voice of the people is met with derision, But a people in action no court will gainsay. Chorus_ Then up with the masses and down with the classes, Death to the traitor who)n money can buy. Co-operation’s the hope of the nation, Strike for it now or your liberties die. Hark to the cries of the hungry and idle, Borne on the breezes from prairie to sea; Patience their fury no longer can bridle, Onward they’re coming to die or be free. Hear and grow pale, ye despoilers of virtue, Corporate managers, masters of slaves. Fools, did ye fancy they never could hurt you? Ye were the cowards and they the braves. Hail to the birth of the new constitution— Laws that are equal in justice to all. Hail to the age of man’s true evolution. Order unfolding at Liberty’s call. Buried forever be selfish ambition, Cruel fomenter of discord and strife; Long live the commonwealth’s Hope’s glad fruition. Humanity rises to news of life. DON’T FORGET to read The Industrial Worker, and Solidarity. 12 WHAT WE WANT (By J. Hill.) f (Tune: "Rainbow/’) We want all the woi’kers 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, i» And the cooks and laundry girls. We want the guy that dives for pearls, The pretty maid that’s making curls. And the baker and staker and the chimneysweep. We want the man that’s slinging hash. The child that works for little cash In one mnion grand. Chorus, We want the tinner and the skinner and the chamber-maid We want the man that spikes on soles, * We want the man that’s digging holes. We want the man that’s climbing poles, .\nd the trucker and the mucker and the hired man, And all the factory girls and clerks, " Yes, we want every one that works. In one union grand. Chorus, 13 THE ROLL CALL Up and down the streets we walk around until our feet are sore, For a job, a job, a job most anywhere. The employment shark will gather easy suckers by the score. When you buy a j(yij out yonder in despair. Chorus, When you buy a job out yon-der, W'Tien you buy a job out yon-der. When you buy a job out yon-der. When you buy a jol) out yon-der in despair. Shall we labor for the grafters, from the dawn till setting sun? Shall we all his graft and hard work meekly bear, When we’ve worked a week we owe the boss for all the work e’ve done, Whe nthe driver yells, “Roll out, boys,’’ are you there? Second Chorus, When the dri-ver yells, roll out boys, W’hen the dri-ver yells, roll out boys. When the dri-ver yells, roll out boys. When the dri-ver yells, roll out boys, are you there? You’ve been robbed by the employment sharks, they’ve kept you on the bum. If you get the job you’ve bought, the case is rare. Be a man and join the union, then the boss to us must come. When the grafters have to travel, we’ll be there. Third Crorus. When the graf-ters have to tra-vel. When the graf-ters have to tra-vel. When the graf-ters have to tra-vel. When the grafters have to travel, we’ll be there. 14 MY WANDERING BOY. Where is my wandering hoy tonight? The hoy of his mother’s pride? He’s counting the ties with his bed on his back. Or else he’s bummin’ a ride. Chorus, Oh, where is my boy tonight? Oh, where is my boy tonight? He is on the head-end of an overland train. That’s where your boy is tonig’nt. His heart mmy be pure as the morning dew, But his clothes are a sight to see. He’s pulled for a vag, his excuse won’t do. “Thirty days,” says the .iudge you see. Chorus, Oh, where is my boy tonight? Oh, where is my boy tonight? The chilly winds blows, to the lockup he goes. That’s where your boy is tonight. “I was looking for wsrk, oh judge,” he said. Says the judge, “I have heard that before.” So to join the chain-gang off he’s led. To hammer the rocks some more. Oh, where is my boy tonight? Oh, where is my boy tonight? To strike many blows for his country he goes That’s where your boy is tonight. Don’t search for your boy tonight. Let him play the old game if he will. A worker, a bum, he’ll never go right. As long as he’s a Avage slave still. Oh, Avhere is my boy tonight? His money is ought of sight. Wherever he blows, up against it he goes, “23” for your boy tonight. r COFFEE AND. (Composed by J. H. of the I. W. W.) (Tune: “Count Your Blessings.”) An employment shark one day I went to see, And he said, “Come in and buy a job from me. Just a couple of dollars for the office fee. But the job is steady and the fare is free.” Chorus. Count your pennies, count them, one by one, And you’ll plainly see how easy you are done. Count your pennies, take them in your hand. Sneak into a Jap, and get your coffee and. I shipped out and worked and worked and slept in lousy bunks, And the grub it stunk as bad as nineteen skunks. When a week I slaved the boss he said one day. You’re too tired, you are fired, get your pay. Chorus. When the clerk commenced to count, Oh, holy gee. Road and school and poll tax and the hospital fee] But I fainted and I nearly lost my sense When yie clerk he said, “You owe me fifty cents.” Chorus. But when I got back to town with blistered feet. Then I heard a fellow speaking on the street. And he said, “It is the workers’ own mistake. If they stand together they get'all they make.” Chorus. Come today,” he said, “and join our union grand. Who will be a member of this fighting band?” “Write me out a card,” says I, “Right here, by gee. The Industrial Workers is the dope for me.” Chorus. Count the ^yorkers, count them one by one. Join our union and we’ll show you how it’s done. Stand together, workers, hand in hand. Then we’ll never have to live on coffee and. 16 THE HOPE OF THE AGES. (Tune: “Three Cheers for the Red, White and Bl (By E. Nesbit.) If you dam up the river of progress— At your peril and cost let it be; That river must seawards despite you— ’Twill break down your dams and be free; And we heed not the pitiful barriers That you in its way have downcast; For your efforts hut add to the torrent, Whose flood must o’erwhelm you at last. Chorus. For our banner is rais’d and unfurled; At your head our defiance is hurled; Our cry is the cry of the ages— Our hope is th® hope of the world. We laugh in the fawe of the forces That strengthen the flood they oppose; For the harder oppression the fiercer The current will he when it flows. We shall win, and the tyrant’s battalions Will be scattered like chaff in the fight. From which the true Soldiers of Freedom Shall gather new courage and might. Chorus. Whether leading the van of the fighters. In the bitterest stress of the strife; Or patiently bearing the burden Of changelessly commonplace life. One hope we have ever before us. Our aim to attain and fulfiM, One watchword we cherish t® mark us. One kindred and brotherhood still. Chorus. What matter if failure on failure Crowd closely upon us and press? When a hundred have bravely been beaten The hundred and first wins success. Our watchword is “Freedom”; new soldiers Flock each day where her flag is unfurled, Our cry is the cry of the ages, Our hope is the hope of the world. ^horus, DOWN IN THE OLD DARK MILL. (By J. H. of the I. W. W.) (Air: "Down by the Old Mil! Stream.”) How well I do remember That mill along the way, Where she and I were working For fifty cents a day. She was my little sweetheart; I met her in the min¬ i’s a long time sin«e I saw her, But I love her still. Chorus. Down in the Old Black Mill, That’s where first we met. Oh! that loving thrill I shall ne’er forget; And those dreamy eyes. Blue like summer skies. She was fifteen— My pretty queen— In the Old Black Mill. We had agreed to marry When she’d be sweet sixteen. But then—one day I crushed it— My arm in the machine. I lost my job forever— I am a tramp disgraced. My sweetheart still is slaving In the same old place. Chorus. DON’T FORGET that you have been up against it this winter. How about next winter? DON’T FORGET that there is only one working clasSi. There can only be one union. - ' WORKINGMEN, UNITE! (Tune: “Red Wing/’ (Composed by E. S. Nelson.) 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? Tt 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 usite to gain our right, K 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! Workingmfen, unite! We must put up a fight. To make us free from slavery And capitalistic tyranny; This fight is not in vain. 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? DON’T FORGET that a short work day, and big paj- always go together. 19 THAT OLD RED BUTTON (Tune: “Put On Your Old Red Bonnet.”) (Words Written by Richard Brazier.) )h, it’s oft when 1 am walking, I have heard the workers talking, ibout the Industrial Union boys. md in my travels all around, in and out about the town, "heir dope at last has made me wise. is I listened to their speeches, in which they showed up all those leeches Who suck the blood of workers every day, determined then to kick in, and to give the boss a lickin’, 'o myself I then did say: Chorus. ,11 wear that old red button, the Industrial Workers’ ,1 ^ button, jljiid I’ll help them out in the fray; I 'i^hen the fight is over, I shall be in clove'r, yhen we win the eight-hour day. nd it’s now when I am walking, it’s me that does the talking, ince I joined this Union Grand, nd I speak out to the workers, to unite against the shirkers, nd get in the Industrial band, nd I said: “Let’s quit this piking, against our long hours let’s be striking, rganize for an eight-hour day,” nd the workers gladly listened, and their eyes with hope glistened nd together they did say: lorus. 20 SCISSOR BILL. (Air: “Steamboat Bill.”) (By J. Hill.) You may ramble ’round the coutry anywhere you will, You’ll always run across that same old Scissor Bill. He’s found upon the desert, he is on the hill. He’s found in every mining camp and lumber mill. He looks just like a human, he can eat and walk. But you will find he isn’t, when he starts to talk. He’ll say, “This is my country,” with an honest face. While all the cops they chase him out of every place. Chorus. Scissor Bill, he is a little dippy. Scissor Bill, he has a funny face. Scissor 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 Chink! Yes, Bill ^vould be a smart guy if only he could think. And Scissor Bill he says: “This country must be freed From Niggers, Japs and Dutchmen and the gol durn Swede. He says that every cop would be a native son If it wasn’t for the Irishman, the sonna furgun. Chorus. Scissor Bill, the “foreigners” is cussin’. Scissor Bill, he says: “I hate a Coon;” Scissor Bill, is down on everybody. The Hottentots, the bushmen and the man in the moon. Don't try to talk your union dope to Scissor Bill, He says he never organized and never will. He always will be satisfied until he’s dead. With coffee and a doughnut and a lousy old bed. And Bill, he says he gets rewarded thousand fold, When he gets up to Heaven on the streets of gold. But 1 don’t care who knows it, and right here I’ll tell. If Scissor Bill is goin’ to Heaven, I’ll go to Hell. Chorus. Scissor Bill, he wouldn’t join the union. Scissor Bill, he says, “Not me, by Heck!” Scissor Bill gets his regard in Heaven, Oh! sure, lie’ll get it, but he’ll get it in the neck. 21 r MR. BLOCK (Air: “It Looks to Me Like a Big Time Tonight.”) (By J. Hill.) ’lease give me your attention, I’ll introduce to you V man that is a credit to “Our Red, White and Blue;’’ lis head is made of lumber, and solid as a rock; ie is a common worker and his name is Mr. Block, vnd Block he thinks he may 5e President some day. 1 Chorus, )h, Mr. Block, you were born by mistake, ’ You take the cake. You make me ache. 'ie on a rock to your block and then jump in the lake, lindly do that for liberty’s sake. :'es, Mr. Block is lucky; he found a job, by gee! i'he sharks got seven dollars, for job and fare and fee. ; hey shipped him to a desert and dumped him with his truck, .ut when he tried to find his job, he sure was out of luck, ' e shouted, “That’s too raw, : II fix them with the law.” 'horus. lock hiked back to the city, but wasn’t doing well, e said, “I'll join the union—the great A. F. of L.” e got a job next morning, got fired in the night, e said, “I’ll see Sam Gompers and he’ll fix that foreman right.” ,im Gompers said, “You see bu’ve got our sympathy.” 'norus. .ection day he shouted, “A Socialist for Mayor!” 'be “comrade” got elected, he happy was for fair, it after the election he got an awful shock, great big socialistic Bull did rap him on the block, id Comrade Block did sob, helped him get his job.” Chorus. The money kings in Cuba blew up the gunboat Maine, But Block got awful angry and blamed it all on Spain. He went right in the battle and there he lost his leg, And now he’s peddling shoestrings and is walking on a pei He shouts, “Remember Maine, Hurrah! To hell with Spain!’’ Chorus. 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’d 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.” Chorus. STAND UP! YE WORKERS. (By Ethel Comer.) (Air: “Stand Up for Jesus.”) Stand up! Stand up! Ye workers; Stand up in all your might. Unite beneath our banner For Liberty and right. From victory unto victory This army sure will go. To win the world for labor And vanquish every foe. Stand up! Stand up! Ye workers; Stand up in every laud. Unite, and fight for freedom In ONE BIG UNION grand. Put on the workers’ armor. Which is the card of Red, Then all the greedy tyrants Will have to earn their bread. Arouse! Arouse! Ye toilers; The strife will not be long. This day the noise of battle, The next the victor’s song. All ye that slave for wages. Stand up and break your chain, Unite in ONE BIG UNION— You’ve got a world to gain. 23 THEY ARE ALL FIGHTTRS (Tune: “San Antonio.” (Written by Richard Brazier.) Tlieer is a bunch of honest workingmen; They’re known throughout the land. They’ve seen the horrors of the bull-pen, From Maine to the Rio Grande. They’ve faced starvation, hunger, privation; Upon them the soldiers were hurled. Their organization is known to the nation As the Industrial Workers of the World. Then hail to this fighting band! ' . Good luck to their union grand! I Chorus_ They’re all fighters from the word go, ii And to the master f. They’ll bring disaster And if you’ll join them I They’ll let you know I Just the reason the boss must go. ) i They’ve faced the Pinkertons and Gatling guns I In defense of their natural rights; 1. They’ve proved themselves to be labor sons ' In all of the workers’ fights; i They have been hounded by power unbounded Of capitalists throughout the land. But all are astounded, our foes are confounded, For we still remain a union grand. Then hail to this fighting band! Chorus. 1 You live on coffee and on doughnuts; 1 The Boss lives on porterhouse steak. You work ten hours a day and live in huts; [ The Boss lives in the palace you make. You face starvation, hunger, privation. But the Boss is always well fed. ' Though of low station you’ve built this nation—: Built it upon your dead. Then when will you ever get wise; ’VV'hefi will you open your eyes? S4 WAGE WORKERS, COME JOIN THE UNION (Tune: "Battle Hymn of the Republic.”) We have seen the reaper toiling in the heat of summer sun VVe have seen his children needy when the harvesting was done, We have seen a mighty army dying, helpless, one by one, While their flag went marching on. ” Chorus. Wage workers, come join the union! Wage workers, come join the union! W^age workers, come join the union! Industrial Workers of the World. O, the army of the ■ wretched, how they swarm the citv street— We have -seen them in the midnight, where the Goths and Vandals meet; , We have shuddered in the darkness at the noises of their feet, But their cause went marching on. Oui slavers marts are empty, human flesh no more is sold. Where the dealer’s fatal hammer wakes the clink of leap- ' ing gold. But the slavers of the present more relentless powers hold, Though the world goes marching on. ’ But no longer shall the children bend above the whizzing wheel, W'e will free the weary women from their bondage under / steel; In the mines and in the forest worn and helpless man shall feel That his cause is marching on. Then lift you” eyes, ye toilers, in the desert hot and drear, » Catch the cod wdnds from the mountains. Hark! the rivei s voice is near; Soon we’ll rest beside the fountain and the dreamland will be here „ As we go marching on. 25 A DREAM r (Tune: “The Holy City.”) ; (Written by Richard Brazier.) i * One day as I lay dreaming, this Aasion came to mee; I saw an army streaming singing of liberty; ( I marked these toilers passing by, I listened to their cry, ^ It was a triumphant anthem—an anthem filled with joy; I It was a triumphant anthem—an anthem filled with joy. " j Chorus. One union, industrial union; , Workers of the world unite, To make us free from slavery And gain each man his right. , I saw the ruling classes watching this grand array . Of marching toiling masses passing on their way; With pallid cheeks and trembling limbs they gazed upon s j this throng. And ever as they marched along the workers sang this I song; And ever as they marched along the workers sang this ^ I song: I Chorus. ] Methought I heard the workers call to that ruling band— ^ Come into our ranks, ye shirkers, for we now rule this land. , Work or starve, the workers said, for you must earn your bread. Then itno their ranks came the masters and joined the workers’ song; Then into their ranks came the masters and joined the workers’ song. ** Mr. Block Post Cards, two different subjects, 50c ’ per 100. Order from the “Industrial Worker,” P, 0, ^ Box 2129, Spokane, Wash. STUNG RIGHT. (Words by J. Hill.) (Air: “Sunlight, Sunlight.” When I was hiking ’round the town to find a job one day, 1 saw a sign that thousand men were wanted right away, To take a trip around the world in Uncle Sammy’s fleet, I signed my name a dozen time upon a great big sheet. Chorus. Stung right, stung right, S-T-U-N-G Stung right, strung right, E. Z. Mark, that’s me; When my term is over, and again I’m free. There’ll be no more trips around the world for me. The man he said, “The U. S. fleet, that is no place for slaves. The only thing you have to do is stand and watch the waves.” But in the morning, five o’clock, they woke me from my snooze. To scrub the deck and polish brass and shine the captain’s shoes. One day a dude in uniform to me commenced to shout, I simply plugged him in the jaw and knocked him down and out; They slammed me right in irons then and said, “You are a case.” On bread and water then I lived for twenty-seven days. One day the captain said, “Today I’ll show you something night, All hands line up, we’ll go ashore and have some exercise.” He made us run for seven miles as fast as we could run. And with a packing on our back that weighed a half a ton. Some time ago when Uncle Sam had a war with Spain, And many of the boys in blue were in the battle slain, Not all were killed by bullets, though; no, not by any means. The biggest part that died were killed by Armour’s Pork and Beans. 27 r THE BONE HEAD WORKING MAN. VIr. Slave, Mr. Slave, listen to the call the brave to the brave; take the world for all. 'Tow you need the light and might to free all homrless working men. ^^ook around, all around and see. ,» dear the pound, hear the sound of machinery. Mow the owners fool you, how they rule you. ^lust hear the bosses blow. Chorus. ^ Hurry up! Hurry up! on my new machine. ** Man, you’re slow, boss is losing money. ' It displaces seventy men. If you cannot speed up you’re fired then. Go and look, go and look for another master. Good or bad you sure will make him wealthy. I It’s God darn hard to wake you up. 5 YOU’RE A BONEHEAD WORKING MAN. iMr. Slave, Mr. Slave, hear the union grand. ‘ t’s a wave, it’s a wave rolling through the land. I.rhis the masters fear we are hear to free our class from V slavery. ' '^det a book, get a book, read the word of light. Take a look, take a look, join the band of might. '’ome and be a wobbly, then you’ll probely dot let the bosses cry $ i ’ the old TOILER’S MESSAGE. (Words by ,1. H. of the I. W. W.) ^ (Air: “Silver Threads Among the Gold.” ’ “Darling I am growing old”— So the toiler told his wife—- ’ Father Time the days have tolled ^ Of my useUilness in life. Just tonight my master told me ^ He can’t use me any more. Oh, my darling, do not scold me, When the wolf comes to our door.” * Chorus. To the scrap heap we are going When we’re overworked and old— When ou)- weary heads are showing **■ Silver threads among the gold. 2S “Darling, I am growing old—” He once more his wife did tell— “All my labor pow’r I’ve sold, I have nothing more to sell. Though I’m dying from starvation I shall shout with all might To the coming generation. I shall shout with all my might— WORKING MEN. (Tune, Genevieve”) (By J. McCormick) Working man, oh can’t you see That your class lives in slavery, That you, yes, you,, and you alone Can the master overhtrow. And yet how hard it is to see You cringing at your master’s knee, To beg that which is yours by right And you could have through your own might. Chorus. Oh workingmen, oh workingmen, The days may come and the days may go But till you organize to fight The master class won’t grant your right. Oh workingmen, you know we’re right Come organize and use your might, The Industrial Workers lead the way, So come and join our band today. For there’s women and children to be freed From this life of slavery; The mills and factories claim there toll, So workers will you claim your own. 29 THE PREACHER AND THE SLAVE. (Tune: "Sweet Bye and Bye/') (By J. Hill.) 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 their play. And they sing and they clap and they pray ’Till they get all our coin on the drum. Then they’ll tell you when you’re on the bum; Chorus: 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.” Chorus: 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 Avill sure go to hell. Chorus: 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: 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. 30 THERE IS POWER IN UNION. (By J. Hill.) (Tune, “There Is Power in the Blood/’) Would you have freedom from wage slavery, Then join 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 hack? Would you have wings up in heaven to fly. And starve here with rags on your back? Chorus. 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. Chorus. If you like sluggers to beat off your head, Then don’t organize, all unions despise. If you want nothing before you are dead. Shake hands with your boss and look wise. Chorus. 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, Chorus. A PARODY ON J. D, (Tune^ “America.") (Anonymous.) My country, ’tis of thee, My private property. Of thee I sing. Land where the millions toil In serfdom on thy soil That out of “Standard Oil” My wealth may wring. My native villainy Is what enables me To make my pile. I have the rocks and rills. Of oil my barrels fills. With gold and bonds and bills— That’s why I smile. Then there’s his son, John D., A pious youth is he— Takes after “Ma," And through the needle’s eye With outstretched wings he’ll fly Up to a home on high Bought by “Papa.” SONG OF THE “SCISSORBILL.” (Air: “America.”) Ova tannas Siam Geeva tanna Siam Ova tannas Sucha tammas Siam Inocan giffa tarn Osucha nas Siam Osucha nas. I 82 WALKING ON THE GRASS. (Tune: “The Wearing of the Green.”) In this blessed land of freedom where King Mammor wears the crown There are many ways illegal now to hold the people down When the dudes of state militia are slow to come to time The law upholding Pinkertons are gathered from the slime. . There are wisely framed injunctions that you must not leave your job, And a peaceable assemblage is declared to be a mob. And Congress passed a measure framed by some consum¬ mate ass, So they are clubbing men and women just for walking on the grass. In this year of slow starvation, when a fellow looks fob work. The chances are a cop will gral) his collar with a jerk; , He will run him in for vagrancy, he is branded as a tramp. And all the well-to-do will shout: “It serves him right, the scamp! ” j So we let the ruling class maintain the dignity of law, i ' When the court decides against us we are filled with wholesome awe. But we cannot stand the outrage without a little sauce When they’re clubbing men and women just for walking on the grass. The papers said the union men were all but anarchist. So the job trust promised work for all who would’t enlist: But the next day when the hungry horde surrounded city hall. He hedged and said he didn’t promise anything at all. So the powers that be are acting very queer to say the least— They should go and read their Bible and all about Bel¬ shazzar’s feast, , And when mene tekel at length shall come to pass They’ll stop clubbing men and women just for walking on the grass. 33 IT IS THE UNION. (Tune: “We Have a Navy.”) (Written by Richard Brazier.) Sing a song in praise of toiling masses, Sing a song about our sons of toil; Sing of wrongs done to the working classes, Wrongs that make our hearts boil. We have always borne the blows and lashes No more we’ll patient stand. But on every hand, throughout this splendid land. We sons of toil will make our stand. Then in our glory will we tower. What will be the secret of our power? Chorus: It is the Union, the Industrial Union— Our banner is unfurled. We will unite in all our splendid might In the Industrial Workers of the World. We have a union, a fighting union, And our masters know that, too. It will keep them in their place When they know they have to face Our union of workingmen that’s true. For countless years and ages we’ve been enslaved Beneath the capitalistic rule; We, the strong, cringing to those men depraved. In whose hands we have ever been a tool. But the day of liberty is dawning— Freedom now draws nigh. We must unite to win the fight— Wage slavery then will die. Then in our glory will we tower; Great will i)e the workers’ power. 34 THE GIRL QUESTION. (Air: “Tell Mother I'll Be There.”) (Words by J. H. of the I. W. W.) A little girl was working in a big department store, Her little wage for food was spent; her dress was ola and tore. She asked the foreman for a raise, so humbly and so shy. And this is what the foreman did reply: Chorus-- Why don’t you get a beau? Some nice old man, you know! He’ll give you money if you treat him right. If he has lots of gold, Don’t mind if he is old. Go! Get some nice old gentleman tonight. The little girl then went to see the owner of the store, She told the story that he’d heard so many times before. The owner cried: “You are discharged! Oh, my, that big disgrace, A ragged thing like you around my place!” Chorus—- The little girl she said: “I know a man that can’t be Avrong, I’ll go and see the preacher in the church where I belong.” She told him she was doAvn and out and had no place to stay. ''And this is what the holy man did say; Chorus— Next day while walking round she saw a sign inside a hall. It read: THE ONE BIG UNION WILL GIVE LIBER¬ TY TO ALL. She said: I'll join that union, and I’ll surely do my best. And noAV she’s gaily singing Avith the rest: Chorus— Oh, W'orkers do unite! To crush the tyrant’s might. The ONE BIG UNION BANNER IS UNFURLED— Come slaves from every land. Come join this fighting band, It’s named INDUSTRIAL W'ORKERS OF THE WORLD. 35 THE WHITE SLAVE. (By J. Hill.) (Air, “Meet Me Tonight in Dreamland.”) One little girl, fair as a pearl. Worked every day in a laundry; All that she made for food she paid, So she slept on a park bench so soundly; An old procuress spied her there, She came'and whispered in her ear: Chorus. Come with me now my girly, DonT sleep out in the cold; Your face and tresses curly Will bring you fame and gold, Automobiles to ride in, diamonds and silk to wear. You’ll be a star bright, down in the red light. You’ll make your fortune there. Same little girl, no more a pearl, Walks all alone ’long the river. Five years have flown, her health is gone. She would look at the water and shiver. Whene’er she’d stop to rest and sleep. She’d hear a voice call from the deep: Chorus. Girls in this way, fall every day. And have been falling for ages, Wlio is to blame? you know his name. It’s the boss that pays starvation wages. A homeless girl can always hear Temptations calling everywhere. EVERYBODY’S JOINING IT. (Words by J. Hill.) (Air: “Everybody’s Doin’ It.’’) Fellow workers, can’t you hear, There is something in the air. Everywhere you walk, everybody talk ’Bout the I. W. W'. They have got a way to strike ' That the master doesn’t like— Everybody stick. That’s the only trick, All are joining it now. Chorus. Everybody’s joining it! Joining what? Joining it Everybody’s joining it! Joining what? Joining it One Big Union, that’s the workers’ choice. One Big Union; that’s the only noise, One Big Union; shout with all your voice; Make a noise, make a noise, make a noise, boys, Everyljody’s joining it! Joining w'hat? Joining it > Everybody’s joining it! Joining what? Joining it Joining in this union grand. Boys and girls in every land; ' All the workers hand in hand— ^ Everybody’s joining it now. Th’ Boss is feeling mighty bine, He don’t know just what to do. We have got his goat, got him by the throat, Soon he’ll work or go starving. Join 1. W. W., Don’t let bosses trouble you. Come and join with us—everybody does— You’ve got nothing to lose. Will the One Big Union grow? k Mister Bonehead wants to know. Well! What do you think, of that funny gink Asking such foolish questions? Will it grow? Well! Look a here, • Brand new locals everyw'here, ' Better take a hunch., join the fighting bunch. Fight for Freedom and Right. 37 yr... WE ARE THE ONLY UNION. (Sing to the tune of “Tommy Aitkens.) We’ll take them from the city and the plough, ^ From factory, mine or steamship or from scow. Where ever workers be who are striving to be free We will organize them in one union grand; Our mission is to free the working slave Who toils away to an early grave From a life of want and woe Liberty we’ll show If they’ll join the Industrial Workers of the World. Chorus. If they’ll join the Industrial Workers And get in and do their share In the battle which we’re Avaging for the workers every- t where; If they’ll organize Industrially into one big union grand The workers will be victors and the rulers of this land. 1 j We aim to make the masters bend the knee ^ To a working class once organized and free j Who will break the master’s rule and no longer be the tool « Of a cruel, scheming Capitalistic class To wake the workers from their reverie And set them on the path to liberty To get all we produce work not for profit but for use That’s the mission of this one big union grand. Chorus. Oh we are the only union that will ever cure the ills Of the women in the sweat-shops and the children in the mills; We will help our felloAV workers who are hungry and out of work; We will do away with grafters and the Idle class who shirks. 38 WE WILL SING ONE SONG. (Words by J. Kill.) Air, “My Old Kentucky Home.”) We will sing one song of the meek a,nd humble slave, The horn-handed son of the toil. He’s toiling hard from the cradle to the grave. But his master reaps the profits from his toil. Then we’ll sing one song of the greedy master class. They’re vagrants in broadcloth, indeed. They live by robbing the ever-toiling mass. Human blood they spill to satisfy their greed. Chorus. Organize! Oh, toilers, come organize your might; Then we’ll sing one song of the workers’ commonwealth. Full of beauty, full of love and health. We will sing one song of the politician sly, He’s talking of changing the laws; Election day all the drinks and smokes he’ll buy. While he’s living from the sweat of your brow. Then we’ll sing one song of the girl below the line. She’s scorned and despised everywhere. While in their mansions the “keepers” wine and dine From the profit that immortal traffic bear. Chorus. We will sing one song of the preacher, fat and sleek. He tells you of homes in the sky. He says, “Be generous, be lowly, and be meek, If you don’t you’ll sure get roasted when you die. Then we’ll sing one song of the poor and ragged tramp. He carries his home on his back; Too old to work, he’s not wanted ’round the camp. So he wanders without aim along the track. Chorus. We will sing one song of the children’s in the mills. They’re taken from playgrounds and schools. In tender years made to go the pace that kills. In the sweatshops, ’mong the looms and the spools. Then we’ll sing one song of the One Big Union Grand, The hope of the toiler and slave. It’s coming fast; it is sweeping sea and land, To the terror of the grafter and the knave. Chorus. WORKERS OF THE WORLD, UNITE. (Tune: “Love Me and the World Is Mine.”) (By Walquist) I wander up and down the street, Till I have blisters on my feet. My belly’s empty. I’ve no bed, No place to rest my weary head. There’s millions like me wandering. Who are deeply pondering. Oh, what must we do to live? Shall the workers face starvation, mis’ry, and privation, In a land so rich and fair? Chorus. Unite, my Fellow Man, unite! Take back your freedom and your right. You have nothing to lose now. Workers of the World, unite. Oh! workingmen, come organize. Oh! when, oh! when will you get wise? Are you still going to be a fool. And let the rich man o’er you rule? It is time that you were waking. See the dawn is breaking, Come now, wake up from your dream. All this wealth belongs to toilers. And not to the spoilers. Wage slaves, throw your chains away. Chorus. Unite, my Fellow Man, unite! And crush the greedy tyrant’s might. The earth belongs to Labor, \Vorkers of the World Unite. SHIP OUT. (Tune: “School Days.”) (By Walquist.) Nothing to do, sucker darling, Nothing to do today, Come take a trip to Oregon, Fat shark will ship you there, Erickson and Peterson are wanting men To come and work for them. So, if you Avill go, we’ll give you a shoAV— Two dollars you’ll have to pay. Chorus. Ship out, ship out, Ship out to a mmster; They give you a poor wage And feed you on peas. The bunks they are plumb full Of crums and fleas. No wonder a worker becomes a “Bo”— And out in the jungles he’ll sleep, you know. You knock on back doors till your knuckles are sore— Whenever you ship to a job. Don’t you remember the driver. Who worked you so hard, you know? He’ll make you work fast as long as you last, And then you. will have to go. Hike along the railroad. With your blankets upon your back. So come and get wise— Come now, organize, and never ship out any more. Chorus, THE “BLANKET STIFF.” He built the road. With others of his class he built the road. Now o’er it, many a weary mile, he packs his load, Chasing a job, spurred on by hunger’s goad, He walks and walks and walks and walks And wonders why in Hell he built the road. OUT IN THE BREAD-LINE. Out in the bread-line, the fool and the knave, Out in the bread-line the sucker and slave. Coffee and doughnuts now takes all our cash. We’re on the bum and we’re glad to get hash. Chorus. Out in the bread-line, in rain or sunshine. We’re up against it today, Out in the bread-line, watching the job-sign. We’re on the bum, boys, today. The employment office now ships east and west. Jobs are quite scarce—they are none of the best; Grub it is rocky—a discount we pay. We are dead broke, and we’ll have to eat hay. Chorus. We are the big bums, the hoboes and “vags,” O, we look hungry, our clothes are all rags. While a fat grafter, sky-pilot or fake. Laughs at our trouloles and gives us the shake. Chorus. O, yes, we’re the suckers, there’s no doubt of that, We live like dogs, and the boss he gets fat, God help his picture, when once we get wise. He’ll be the hum and we’ll be the swell guys. “SOLIDARITY.” A weekly revolutionary working class paper, published by the Local Unions of New Castle. Pa. Subscription; Yearly, $1.00; six months, 50 cents; Can¬ ada and foreign, $1.50; bundle orders, per copy, l%c. Address all communications for publication to B. Williams, editor.^ all remittances to the manager, C. McCarty. Address: P.. O. Box 622, New Castle, Pa. WHERE THE FRASER RIVER FLOWS. (Tune: '‘Where the River Shannon Flows.”) Fellow worker.g pay attention to what I’m going to men tion, For it is the fixed intention of the Workers of the World. And I hope you’ll all he ready, true-hearted, brave and steady. To gather ’round our standard when the Red Flag is unfurled. Chorus. Where the Fraser River flows, each fellow worker knows, They have bullied and oppressed us, but still our Union grows. And we’re going to find a way, boys, for shorter hours and better pay, boys; And we’re going to win the day, boys; where the river Fraser fiows. For these gunny-sack contractors have all been dirty actors. And they’re not our benefactors, each fellow worker knows. So we’ve got to stick together in fine or dirty weather. And we will show no white feather, where the Fraser River fiows. Now the boss the law is stretching, bulls and pimps he’s fetching. And they are a fine collection, as Jesus only knows. But why their mothers reared them, and why the devi, spared them, Are questions we can't ariswer, where the Fraser Rive: flows. Read “The Industrial Worker” and Solidarity, each ? cents a copy'; $1 per year. Both, 1 year, $1.50. “Why should one man's belly be empty when ten mer can produce enough to feed a hundred?” 1.1 i '‘MIGHT IS RIGHT.” (By Covington Hall.) Might was Right when Christ was hanged Beside the Jordan’s foam; Might was Right when Gracchus bled. Upon the stones of Rome; * And Might was Right when Danton fell, When Emmet passed away— “ ’Tis the logic of the Ancient World, And the oGspel of today.” Might was Right when Spartacus Went down in seas of blood. And when the Commune perished In the selfsame crimson flood; And Might was Right at Cripple Creek, At Tampa, Homestead—yea! ” ’Tis the logic of the Ancient World, And the Gospel of today.” Might was Right when Parsons died, < AVhen Ferrer followed him, When Chinn’s young life was beaten out In Spokane’s dungeon grim; And Might was Right when Pettibone Went staggering down death’s way— * ” ’Tis the logic of the Ancient World, And the Gospel of today.” Might is Right when Morgan builds A hell ’round every hearth; Might is Right when Kirby starves His peons off the earth; And Might was Right when Deitz became Wolf AA^eyerhauesr’s prey— “ ’Tis the logic of the Ancient World, And the Gospel of today.” m Might is Right when children die By thousands in the mills, . When leAveled hands reach down and take ^ The gold their blood distills; 44 And Might is Right when maidens give Their love-dreams up for pay— “ ’Tis the logic of the Ancient World, And the Gospel of today.” Might was, it is, it e’er will be. The One and Only Right; And so, O hosts of Toil, awaken! O workingmen, unite! Unite! Unite! For Might is Right, ’Tis Freedom’s only way— “ ’Tis the logic of the Ancient World, And the Gospel of today.” UNITE! UNITE! (Tune; How Can ! Bear to Leave Thee.”) (Written by Thos. Borland.) Oh, workingmen, do organize For freedom and for liberty! Cut loose the bands that bind you fast; Unite or death will be your last. Refrain, Unite, unite, to win your fight; Onward, onward, to liberty. The Industrial Workers of the World Are putting up a manly fight. To give the working class their rights And overthrow the parasites. Chorus. Hail to our noble martyrs true, Who hoisted the emblem for me and you. Some they bled and others died. Their lives did they not sacrifice? (Note—Thomas Borland died as the result of the treat¬ ment received in prison in the Franklin School, Spokane, Wash., in the “free speech” fight.) the tramp. (By J. Hill.) Tune: “Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Boys Are Marching.”) If you all will shut your trap, I will tell you ’bout a chap, That was broke and up against it, too, for fair; He was not the kind that shirk. He Avas looking hard for work. But he heard the same old story everywhere. Chorus. Tramp, tramp, tramp, keep on a-tramping. Nothing doing here for you; If I catch you ’round again. You will wear the ball and chain. Keep on tramping, that’s the best thing you can do. He walked up and down the street, ’Till the shoes fell off his feet; In a house he spied a lady cooking stew. And he said, “How do you do. May I chop some wood for you?” What the lady told him made him feel so blue. Chorus. ’Cross the street a sign he read, “Work for Jesus,” so it said, And he said, “Here is my chance. I’ll surely try,” And he kneeled upon the floor, ’Till his knees got rather sore, But at eating-time he heard the preacher cry— Chorus. Down the street he met a cop. And the Copper made him stop. And he asked him, “When did you blow into town? Come w'ith me up to the judge.” But the judge he said, “Oh fudge. Bums that have no money needn’t come around.” Chorus. Finally came that happy day When his life did pass away. He was sure he’d go to heaven when he died. When he reached the pearly gate, Santa Peter, mean old skate. Slammed the gate right in his face and loudly cried; Chorus. COME AND GET WISE. (Tune: “The Anheuser-Busch.”) (Written by Richard Brazier.) * Talk about the swell wa,y the workers don’t live, And the fine wages our masters don’t give; Rave about the good cream that’s up high above If we’ll work for nothing and the boss we’ll love; Speak about the bread lines and soup houses, too, Who sometimes feed workers when no job’s in view; But, workingman, really the power’s in your hand To change these conditions and rule this fair land. Chorus. Come, come, come, and get wise To the boss who is now robbing you. Come, come, come, hear what we say To workingmen, honest and true. We’re the only union, and that is no lie; You can join us without fear. Come, come, come and put the grafter Dead on the hog right here. * Talk about the mansions where we don’t reside. And the splendid Pullmans in which we don’t ride; ^ Speak about the good clothes we never wear. The jewels and luxuries our masters don’t share; Talk about the swell dumps where our masters dine Their friends, their lackeys and ladies so fine; But if you need these things one thing you must do— All come together in one union true. Talk about our friend, the em.ployment shark. Who robs the poor workingman daylight and dark, ' And those fat policemen who batter our head If we go on strike for a few crumbs of bread; And those fat preachers, so sleek and Avell fed. Who say we’ll be happy after we’re dead; » But if you’ll unite in the Industrial Band You can drive all these grafters out of this land. 47 i 1 HOLD THE FORT. 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. ' ik By our union we shall triumph 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. ■IS 17 59 ‘^t 5 CMdni-d !/• - //.// Rh.J d>^(PS Jy:(^n-i{Sri^ hi 9 yi^t^Q f 4 -S & u ; y} 4)^ (T J{tf ^ / iC' y-' // >tiJfC"'>^^^‘P'^ ‘^^'5 5 '»"^ i -t ^ ^ (f J i~t' '^ ‘^ •fc ■ K Ten Cents Eacfi