| It was early springtime that the strike was on
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| They moved us miners out of doors
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| Out from the houses that the company owned
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| We moved into tents at old Ludlow
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| I was worried bad about my children
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| Soldiers guarding the railroad bridge
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| Every once in a while a bullet would fly
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| Kick up gravel under my feet
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| We were so afraid they would kill our children
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| We dug us a cave that was seven foot deep
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| Carried our young ones and a pregnant woman
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| Down inside the cave to sleep
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| That very night you soldier waited
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| Until us miners were asleep
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| You snuck around our little tent town
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| Soaked our tents with your kerosene
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| You struck a match and the blaze it started
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| You pulled the triggers of your gatling guns
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| I made a run for the children but the fire wall stopped me
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| Thirteen children died from your guns
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| I carried my blanket to a wire fence corner
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| Watched the fire till the blaze died down
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| I helped some people grab their belongings
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| While your bullets killed us all around
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| I will never forget the looks on the faces
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| Of the men and women that awful day
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| When we stood around to preach their funerals
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| And lay the corpses of the dead away
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| We told the Colorado governor to call the President
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| Tell him to call off his National Guard
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| But the National Guard belong to the governor
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| So he didn’t try so very hard
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| Our women from Trinidad they hauled some potatoes
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| Up to Walsenburg in a little cart
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| They sold their potatoes and brought some guns back
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| And put a gun in every hand
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| The state soldiers jumped us in a wire fence corner
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| They did not know that we had these guns
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| And the red neck miners mowed down them troopers
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| You should have seen those poor boys run
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| We took some cement and walled that cave up
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| Where you killed those thirteen children inside
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| I said, «God bless the Mine Workers' Union»
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| And then I hung my head and cried |