| If you want higher wages, let me tell you what to do; |
| You got to talk to the workers in the shop with you; |
| You got to build you a union, got to make it strong |
| But if you all stick together, now, ‘twont be long |
| You’ll get shorter hours |
| Better working conditions |
| Vacations with pay |
| Take your kids to the seashore |
| It ain’t quite this simple, so I better explain |
| Just why you got to ride on the union train; |
| ‘Cause if you wait for the boss to raise your pay, We’ll all be waiting till |
| Judgment Day; |
| We’ll all he buried — gone to Heaven — |
| Saint Peter’ll be the straw boss then |
| Now, you know you’re underpaid, but the boss says you ain’t; |
| He speeds up the work till you’re ‘bout to faint |
| You may be down and out, but you ain’t beaten |
| Pass out a leaflet and call a meetin' |
| Talk it over — speak your mind — |
| Decide to do something about it |
| ‘Course, the boss may persuade some poor damn fool To go to your meeting and |
| act like a stool; |
| But you can always tell a stool, though — that’s a fact; |
| He’s got a yellow streak running down his back; |
| He doesn’t have to stool — he’ll always make a good living |
| On what he takes out of blind men’s cups |
| You got a union now; you’re sitting pretty; |
| Put some of the boys on the steering committee |
| The boss won’t listen when one man squawks |
| But he’s got to listen when the union talks |
| He better — |
| He’ll be mighty lonely one of these days |
| Suppose they’re working you so hard it’s just outrageous |
| They’re paying you all starvation wages; |
| You go to the boss, and the boss would yell |
| «Before I’d raise your pay I’d see you all in Hell.» Well, he’s puffing a big |
| see-gar and feeling mighty slick |
| He thinks he’s got your union licked |
| He looks out the window, and what does he see |
| But a thousand pickets, and they all agree |
| He’s a bastard — unfair — slave driver — |
| Bet he beats his own wife |
| Now, boy, you’ve come to the hardest time; |
| The boss will try to bust your picket line |
| He’ll call out the police, the National Guard; |
| They’ll tell you it’s a crime to have a union card |
| They’ll raid your meeting, hit you on the head |
| Call every one of you a goddamn Red — |
| Unpatriotic — Moscow agents — |
| Bomb throwers, even the kids |
| But out in Detroit here’s what they found |
| And out in Frisco here’s what they found |
| And out in Pittsburgh here’s what they found |
| And down in Bethlehem here’s what they found |
| That if you don’t let Red-baiting break you up |
| If you don’t let stool pigeons break you up |
| If you don’t let vigilantes break you up |
| And if you don’t let race hatred break you up — |
| You’ll win. What I mean |
| Take it easy — but take it! |