Dreadful mem'ries, how they linger
How they ever flood my soul
How the workers and their children
Die from hunger and from cold.
Hungry fathers, wearied mothers
Living in those dreadful shacks
Little children cold and hungry
With no clothing on their backs.
Dreadful gun thugs and stool pigeons
Always flock around our door
What's the crime that we've committed?
Nothing, only that we're poor.
When I think of all the heartaches
And all the things that we've been through
Then I wonder how much longer
And what a workingman can do.
We will have to join the union
They will help us find a way
How to get a better living
And for our work get better pay.
Really, friends, it doesn't matter
Whether we are black or white
The only way we'll ever change things
Is to fight and fight and fight
Is to fight and fight and fight.