          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 horny-handed son of toil,
He's toiling hard from the cradle to the grave,
  But his master reaps the profit 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 workers' 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,
 While we make the welkin ring with our applause.
Then we'll sing one song of the girl below the line,
 She's scorned and despised everywhere,
While in their mansions the 'keepers' wine and dine
 From the profits that immoral traffic bear.

We will sing one song of the preacher, fat and sleek,
 He tells you of homes in the sky.
He says, "Be generous, be lowly and meek,
 If you don't you'll sure get roasted when you die."
Then we'll sing one song of the poor and ragged tramp,
 He carries his home on his back;
We will sing one song of the children in the mills,
 They're taken from the playgrounds and schools,
In tender years made to go the pace that kills,
 In the sweatshops, 'mong the looms and the spools.
Then we'll sing one song of the One Big Union Grand,
 The hope of the toiler and slave,
It's coming fast!  it is sweeping sea and land,
 To the terror of the grafter and the knave.


