Lyrics: Sophie Fagin.
Workingmen have dirty hands:
Calloused, grimy, battered hands,
Bruised, and seared and ugly hands,
Seared with the marks of labor.
Hands that build and push and heave,
Hands that plant and reap and weave,
Hands too numb to ask reprieve—
Such are the hands of Labor.
Ruling men have gentle hands,
Pampered, cleanly, useless hands,
Manicured and scented hands,
Unmarred by the grime of labor.
Hands that never dug a ditch,
Hands that never sewed a stitch,
Idle hands of the idle rich,
Scorning useful labor.
Revolutions are not made
By scented hands with sweet pomade.
Ugly hands learn to resist,
Ugly hands make husky fists—
En avant, ye fists of labor!