Though "union men" hauled in the scabs and hauled the scab coal out.
The outside miners sent in grub and shoes and all the like
And then went back into the mines and helped to break the strike.
For these two things have always helped to keep us in the ditch:
The "contracts" of our unions and the hirelings of the rich.
Now Jurgot was this mine-guard's name (for treason to his class
He had to pay) and you will hear just how it came to pass.
They came to drive us from those shacks the Operators' own
And on the dusty county road our goods were being thrown.
The Baldwins did the dirty work with Yellow-legs on guard—
A bunch of low scab-herding curs before each miner's yard!
And what was left for us to do but just to stand aside
And let them finish up the job—and swallow down our pride?
They'd thrown us out—we knew they would—and we could hit the pike,
Our masters could do everything except to break our strike.
They had the courts, the guards, the guns, the earth—without, within—
But we had one another and a fighting chance to win!
Bill Parson's house they came to last; it was the farthest down,
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