Chapter XXXI: Appendix: IX

SELECTIONS FROM THE I. W. W. SONG BOOK[742]

ARE YOU A WOBBLY?

BY JOE FOLEY

(Tune: "Are You from Dixie?")

Hello, there, worker, how do you do?
You're up against it; broke, hungry, too.
Don't be surprised, you're recognized,
I know a slave by the look in his eyes.
You want what I want--well, that's liberty,
Your frowning face seems to tell it to me.
Where there's a will, Bill, there's a way, Bill,
So listen to what I say.

CHORUS

Are you a wobbly? then listen, Buddy,
For the One Big Union beckons to you--
The Workers' Union, the Industrial Union;
Tell every slave you see along the line:
It makes no difference what your color,
Creed or sex or kind,
If you are a worker, then it's kick right in and join.
Become a wobbly and then we'll probably
Free ourselves from slavery.

You like the idea, but then you say,
"How can we do it--when is the day?"
When all the ladies and all the babies
And every man who works for a wage
Gets in the Union--One Union Grand--
All hands together we'll make our demand;
When you and I, Bill, lay down our tools, Bill,
Fold up our arms, Bill, and walk off the job.

DUMP THE BOSSES OFF YOUR BACK

BY JOHN BRILL

(Tune: "Take it to the Lord in Prayer")

Are you poor, forlorn and hungry?
Are there lots of things you lack?
Is you life made up of misery?
Then dump the bosses off your back.
Are your clothes all patched and tattered?
Are you living in a shack?
Would you have your troubles scattered?
Then dump the bosses off your back.

Are you almost split asunder?
Loaded like a long-eared jack?
Boob--why don't you buck like thunder?
And dump the bosses off your back.
All the agonies you suffer,
You can end with one good whack--
Stiffen up, you orn'ry duffer--
And dump the bosses off your back.

HALLELUJAH! I'M A BUM![743]

O! I like my boss,
He's a good friend of mine.
And that's why I'm starving
Out on the picket-line!
Hallelujah! I'm a bum!
Hallelujah! Bum again!
Hallelujah! Give us a hand-out
To revive us again!

MR. BLOCK

BY JOE HILL

(Air: "It Looks to Me like a Big Time Tonight")

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

CHORUS

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

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

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

Election day he shouted, "A Socialist for Mayor!"
The "comrade" got elected, he happy was for fair,
But after the election he got an awful shock.
A great big Socialist Bull did rap him on the block.
And Comrade Block did sob,
"I helped him to his job."

* * * * *

TIE 'EM UP!

(Words and music by G. G. Allen)

We have no fight with brothers of the old A. F. of L.
But we ask you use your reason with the facts we have to tell.
Your craft is but protection for a form of property,
The skill that you are losing, don't you see.
Improvements on machinery take your tool and skill away,
And you'll be among the common slaves upon some fateful day.
Now the things of which we're talking we are mighty sure about.--
So what's the use to strike the way you can't win out?

CHORUS

Tie 'em up! tie 'em up; that's the way to win.
Don't notify the bosses till hostilities begin.
Don't furnish chance for gunmen, scabs and all their like;
What you need is One Big Union and the One Big Strike.

Why do you make agreements that divide you when you fight
And let the bosses bluff you with the contract's "sacred right"?
Why stay at work when other crafts are battling with the foe?
You all must stick together, don't you know?
The day when you begin to see the classes waging war
You can join the biggest tie-up that was ever known before.
When the strikes all o'er the country are united into one
Then the workers' One Big Union all the wheels shall run.

A. F. OF L. SYMPATHY

BY B. L. WEBER

(Tune: "All I Got was Sympathy")

Bill Brown was a worker in a great big shop,
Where there worked two thousand others;
They all belonged to the A. F. of L.,
And they called each other "brothers."
One day Bill Brown's union went out on strike,
And they went out for higher pay;
All the other crafts remained on the job,
And Bill Brown did sadly say:

CHORUS

All we got was sympathy;
So we were bound to lose, you see;
All the others had craft autonomy,
Or else they would have struck with glee,
But I got good and hungry,
And no craft unions go for me.
Gee! Ain't it hell, in the A. F. of L.
All you get is sympathy.

Bill Brown was a thinker, and he was not a fool,
And fools there are many, we know.
So he decided the A. F. of L.
And its craft divisions must go.
Industrial Unions are just the thing,
Where the workers can all join the fight;
So now on the soap box boldly he stands,
A-singing with all of his might:

CHORUS

* * * * *

THE MESSAGE FROM O'ER THE SEA

(Tune: "Don't Bite the Hand that's Feeding You")

One day as I sat pining
A message of cheer came to me,
A light of revolt was shining
On a country far over the sea,
The forces of rulers to sever
And the flag of the earth to unfold
To secure our freedom forever
And a world of beauty untold.

CHORUS

All hail to the Bolsheviki!
We will fight for our Class and be free,
A Kaiser, King or Czar, no matter which you are
You're nothing of interest to me;
If you don't like the red flag of Russia,
If you don't like the spirit so true,
Then just be like the cur in the story
And lick the hand that's robbing you.

We have lived in meek submission
Thru ages of toil and despair,
To comply with the plutes' ambition
With never a thought nor a care.
An echo from Russia is sounding
'Tis the chimes of a True Liberty,
It's a message for millions resounding
To throw off your chains and be free.

SCISSOR BILL

BY JOE HILL

(Tune: "Steamboat Bill")

You may ramble 'round the country anywhere you will,
You'll always run across the same old Scissor Bill.
He's found upon the desert, he is on the hill,
He's found in every mining camp and lumber mill.
He looks just like a human, he can eat and walk,
But you will find he isn't when he starts to 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.

* * * * *

PAINT 'ER RED

BY RALPH CHAPLIN

(Tune: "Marching through Georgia")

Come with us, you workingmen, and join the rebel band;
Come, you discontented ones, and give a helping hand,
We march against the parasite to drive him from the land.
With ONE BIG INDUSTRIAL UNION!

CHORUS

Hurrah! hurrah! we're going to paint 'er red!
Hurrah! hurrah! the way is clear ahead--
We're gaining shop democracy and liberty and bread
With ONE BIG INDUSTRIAL UNION!

* * * * *

"Slaves" they call us, "working plugs," inferior by birth,
But when we hit their pocketbooks we'll spoil their smiles or mirth--
We'll stop their dirty dividends and drive them from the earth
With ONE BIG INDUSTRIAL UNION!

We hate their rotten system more than any mortals do,
Our aim is not to patch it up, but build it all anew,
And what we'll have for government, when finally we're through,
Is ONE BIG INDUSTRIAL UNION!

CASEY JONES--THE UNION SCAB

BY JOE 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 being 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 down 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."

THE PREACHER AND THE SLAVE

BY JOE HILL

(Tune: "Sweet Bye and Bye")

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

CHORUS

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

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

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."

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

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

LAST CHORUS

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

THE RED FLAG

BY JAMES CONNELL

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

CHORUS

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

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

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

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

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

WHAT WE WANT

BY JOE HILL

(Tune: "Rainbow")

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

CHORUS

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

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

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

FOOTNOTES:

[742] _I. W. W. songs to fan the flames of discontent_, 14th [General Defense] Edition, Chicago, I. W. W. Publishing Bureau, April, 1918.

[743] Not published in the 14th edition. (Quoted only in part.)