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