The angels got together, and they said it wasn't fair,
For Casey Jones to go around a-scabbing everywhere.
The Angel's 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 EVERETT COUNTY JAIL
(Tune: "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Boys are Marching")
By Wm. Whalen
In the prison cell we sit
Are we broken hearted—nit
We're as happy and as cheerful as can be,
For we know that every wob
Will be busy on the job,
Till they swing the prison doors and set us free.
CHORUS
Are you busy Fellow Workers
Are your shoulders to the wheel?
Get together for the cause
And some day you'll make the laws.
It's the only way to make the masters squeal.
Though the living is not grand,
Mostly mush and coffee and,
It's as good as we excepted when we came.
It's the way they treat the slave
In this free land of the brave
There is no one but the working class to blame
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