/culture/ - Kultur

Kultur, Hobbys, Verschiedene Themen


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Anonymous 02/05/2020 (Wed) 05:12:15 No. 632
let's do 1924 over again it's all public domain now www.folkarchive.de/labor.html
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>>632 THE PREACHER AND THE SLAVE: ~~~~~~~~~~ Long-haired preachers come out every night, Try to tell you what's wrong and what's right; But when asked how 'bout something to eat They will answer with voices so sweet: CHORUS: You will eat, bye and bye, In that glorious land above the sky; Work and pray, live on hay, You'll get pie in the sky when you die. *The starvation army they play, //pick only one of these verses *They sing and they clap and they pray *'Till they get all your coin on the drum *Then they'll tell you when you're on the bum: *Holy Rollers and jumpers come out, *They holler, they jump and they shout. *Give your money to Jesus they say, *He will cure all diseases today. If you fight hard for children and wife -- Try to get something good in this life -- You're a sinner and bad man, they tell, When you die you will sure go to hell. Workingmen of all countries, unite, Side by side we for freedom will fight; When the world and its wealth we have gained To the grafters we'll sing this refrain: FINAL CHORUS: You will eat, bye and bye, When you've learned how to cook and to fry. Chop some wood, 'twill do you good, And you'll eat in the sweet bye and bye.
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CASEY JONES, THE UNION SCAB ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The Workers on the S. P. line to strike sent out a call; But Casey Jones, the engineer, he wouldn't strike at all; His boiler it was leaking, and its drivers on the bum, And his engine and its bearings, they were all out of plumb. Casey Jones kept his junk pile running; Casey Jones was working double time; Casey Jones got a wooden medal, For being good and faithful on the S. P. line. The workers said to Casey: "Won't you help us win this strike?" But Casey said: "Let me alone, you'd better take a hike." Then some one put a bunch of railroad ties across the track, And Casey hit the river bottom with an awful crack. Casey Jones hit the river bottom; Casey Jones broke his blessed spine; Casey Jones was an Angelino, He took a trip to heaven on the S. P. line. When Casey Jones got up to heaven, to the Pearly Gate, He said: "I'm Casey Jones, the guy that pulled the S. P. freight." "You're just the man," said Peter, "our musicians went on strike; You can get a job a'scabbing any time you like." Casey Jones got up to heaven; Casey Jones was doing mighty fine; Casey Jones went scabbing on the angels, Just like he did to workers of the S. P. line. They got together, and they said it wasn't fair, For Casey Jones to go around a'scabbing everywhere. The Angels' Union No. 23, they sure were there, And they promptly fired Casey down the Golden Stairs. Casey Jones went to Hell a'flying; "Casey Jones," the Devil said, "Oh fine: Casey Jones, get busy shovelling sulphur; That's what you get for scabbing on the S. P. Line."
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CHRISTIANS AT WAR (1916) ________ Onward, Christian soldiers! Duty's way is plain; Slay your Christian neighbors, or by them be slain, Pulpiteers are spouting effervescent swill, God above is calling you to rob and rape and kill, All your acts are sanctified by the Lamb on high; If you love the Holy Ghost, go murder, pray and die. Onward, Christian soldiers! Rip and tear and smite! Let the gentle Jesus bless your dynamite. Splinter skulls with shrapnel, fertilize the sod; Folks who do not speak your tongue deserve the curse of God. Smash the doors of every home, pretty maidens seize; Use your might and sacred right to treat them as you please. Onward, Christian soldiers! Eat and drink your fill; Rob with bloody fingers, Christ okays the bill, Steal the farmers' savings, take their grain and meat; Even though the children starve, the Savior's bums must eat, Burn the peasants' cottages, orphans leave bereft; In Jehovah's holy name, wreak ruin right and left. Onward, Christian soldiers! Drench the land with gore; Mercy is a weakness all the gods abhor. Bayonet the babies, jab the mothers, too; Hoist the cross of Calvary to hallow all you do. File your bullets' noses flat, poison every well; God decrees your enemies must all go plumb to hell. Onward, Christian soldiers! Blight all that you meet; Trample human freedom under pious feet. Praise the Lord whose dollar sign dupes his favored race! Make the foreign trash respect your bullion brand of grace. Trust in mock salvation, serve as tyrant's tools; History will say of you: "That pack of G.. d.. fools."
>>635 >Slay your Christian neighbors SLAY THE PROTESTANT JUDEO DEMONS, gott strafe england
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Fifty-thousand lumberjacks, fifty thousand packs, Fifty-thousand dirty rolls of blankets on their backs. Fifty-thousand minds made up to strike and strike like men For fifty years they've packed a bed, but never will again. CHORUS: "Such a lot of devils" -- that's what the papers say -- "They've gone on strike for shorter hours and some increase in pay: They left the camps, the lazy tramps, they all walked out as one; They say they'll win the strike or put the bosses on the bum." Fifty-thousand wooden bunks full of things that crawl; Fifty-thousand restless men have left them once for all, One by one they dared not say "Fat, the hours are long." If they did they'd hike -- but now they're fifty thousand strong. Take a tip and start right in; plan some cozy rooms, Six or eight spring beds in each, with towels, sheets, and brooms, Shower baths for men who work keep them well and fit, A laundry, too, and drying room would help a little bit,
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THE JOB I LEFT BEHIND ME ~~~~~~~~~~~ I took a job on an extra gang, Way up in the mountain, I paid my fee and the shark shipped me And the ties I soon was counting. The boss he put me driving spikes And the sweat was enough to blind me, He didn't seem to like my pace, So I left the job behind me. I grabbed a hold of an old freight train And around the country traveled, The mysteries of a hobo's life To me were soon unraveled. I traveled east and I traveled west And the shacks could never find me, Next morning I was miles away From the job I left behind me. I ran across a bunch of stiffs Who were known as Industrial Workers. They taught me how to be a man And how to fight the shirkers. I kicked right in and joined the bunch And now in the ranks you'll find me, Hurrah for the cause - To hell with the boss And the job I left behind me.
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THE TRAMP If you all will shut your trap, I will tell you 'bout a chap, That was broke and up against it, too, for fair He was not the kind that shirk, He was looking hard for work, But he heard the same old story everywhere: CHORUS: Tramp, tramp, tramp, keep on a-tramping, Nothing doing here for you; If I catch you 'round again, You will wear the ball and chain, Keep on tramping, that's the best thing you can do. He walked up and down the street, 'Till the shoes fell off his feet, In a house he spied a lady cooking stew, And he said, "How do you do, May I chop some wood for you?" What the lady told him made him feel so blue: 'Cross the street a sign he read, "Work for Jesus," so it said, And he said, "Here is my chance, I'll surely try," And he kneeled upon the floor, 'Till his knees got rather sore, But at eating-time he heard the preacher cry: Down the street he met a cop, And the Copper made him stop, And he asked him, "When did you blow into town? Come with me up to the judge." But the judge he said, "Oh, fudge, Bums that have no money needn't come around." Finally came that happy day When his life did pass away, He was sure he'd go to heaven when he died, When he reached the pearly gate, Santa Peter, mean old skate, Slammed the gate right in his face and loudly cried: In despair he went to Hell, With the Devil for to dwell, For the reason he'd no other place to go. And he said, "I'm full of sin, So for Christ's sake, let me in!" But the Devil said, "Oh, beat it! You're a 'bo!"
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Seven cent cotton and forty cent meat How in the world can a poor man eat Flour up high and cotton down low How in the world can we raise any dough Clothes worn out, shoes run down Old slouch hat with a hole in the crown Back nearly broken and fingers all sore Cotton gone down to rise no more Seven cent cotton and forty cent meat How in the world can a poor man eat Mules in the barn, no crops laid by Corn crib empty and the cow's gone dry Well water low, nearly out of sight Can't take a bath on Saturday night No use talking, any man is beat With seven cent cotton and forty cent meat Seven cent cotton and eight dollar pants Who in the world has got a chance We can't buy clothes and we can't buy meat Too much cotton and not enough to eat Can't help each other, what shall we do I can't explain it so it's up to you Seven cent cotton and two dollar hose Guess we'll have to do without any clothes Seven cent cotton and forty cent meat How in the world can a poor man eat Poor getting poorer all around here Kids coming regular every year Fatter our hogs, take 'em to town All we get is six cents a pound Very next day we have to buy it back Forty cents a pound in a paper sack
DARK AS A DUNGEON - 1946 ~~~~~~~~~ Come and listen you fellows, so young and so fine, And seek not your fortune in the dark, dreary mines. It will form as a habit and seep in your soul, 'Till the stream of your blood is as black as the coal. CHORUS: It's dark as a dungeon and damp as the dew, Where danger is double and pleasures are few, Where the rain never falls and the sun never shines It's dark as a dungeon way down in the mine. It's a-many a man I have seen in my day, Who lived just to labor his whole life away. Like a fiend with his dope and a drunkard his wine, A man will have lust for the lure of the mines. I hope when I'm gone and the ages shall roll, My body will blacken and turn into coal. Then I'll look from the door of my heavenly home, And pity the miner a-diggin' my bones.

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