When McRea, and Veitch, and Black
To the Lumberyards go back
May they travel empty handed as they came.
May they turn in their report
That the wobs still hold the fort
That a rebel is an awful thing to tame.
When the 65 per cent
That they call the working gent
Organizes in a Union of its class
We will then get what we're worth
That will be the blooming' earth.
Organize and help to bring the thing to pass.
WE WILL SING ONE SONG
By Joe Hill
(Air: "My Old Kentucky Home")
We will sing one song of the meek and 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 worker's 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,
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