Из альбома: My Dusty Road
You gotta go down and join the union
You got to join it by yourself
Ain't nobody here can join it for you
You gotta go down and join the union by yourself
[Spoken:]
Working in the factories would kill a dog
Working on the belt line killed your soul
Working in the limestone and cement quarries withered your lungs
Working in the cotton mills shot your legs and feet all to hell
And working in the steel mills burned up your spirit
Like a gnat that lit in the melting pot
But out of this whole mixing bowl of hell and high water
The working folk have marched against Billy clubs,
Against machine guns
And they sang their way through the whole dirty mess
Now, the bank men have got their union, and the
Landlords got their union
And the finance men got their union
But down south and out west
On the cotton farms and working in the orchards and fruit crops
It's a jail house offense for a few, common everyday workers
To form them a union and get together for higher wages
Honest pay and fair treatment.
You gotta go down and join the union
You got to join it by yourself
Ain't nobody here can join it for you
You gotta go down and join the union by yourself