Organize!

Come all you exploited workingmen
And fight for Freedom's cause,
For you are bound, both hand and foot,
By capitalistic laws;
Your voices you can raise no more,
Your lips you now must seal,
For if you rise to speak a word
A gun-man's at your heel.

Come on, unite, my hearty boys,
And fight the common foe;
The rustling card with all its faults
This time must surely go.
The "seven days" and "safety first,"
Alas, they are no more,
So now's your time to fall in line
At Freedom's onward roll.

Our master is a "patriot" true,
Red wealth he has galore,
And all good things that Labor brings,
He's locked up in his store;
But if, like men, you'll organize,
His reign will be no more,
And he will go where he belongs
A-shoveling copper ore.

Remember, then, the six-hour day
Must be our first demand;
For miners from our ranks each day
From death receive a call;
The miner's "con" you soon will see
Will lose its deadly pall,
And we'll make this camp a grand old spot
For the workers, one and all.

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Text: James J. Ferriter
Nach der Melodie von: The Green Fields of Dunmoor