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.
"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've left the camps, the lazy tramps; They've all walked out as one;
They've said 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.
"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've left the camps, the lazy tramps; They've all walked out as one;
They've said they'll win the strike or put the bosses on the bum."
Fatty Rich, we know your game, know your pride is pricked.
Say - but why not be a man and own when you are licked?
They've joined the One Big Union – gee - for goodness‘ sake, get wise!
The more you try to buck them now, the more they'll organize.
"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've left the camps, the lazy tramps; They've all walked out as one;
They've said they'll win the strike or put the bosses on the bum."
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.
"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've left the camps, the lazy tramps; They've all walked out as one;
They've said they'll win the strike or put the bosses on the bum."
Get some dishes, white and clean; good, pure food to eat;
See that cook has help enough to keep the table neat;
Tap the bell for eight hours; treat the boys like men;
And fifty thousand lumberjacks may come to work again.
"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've left the camps, the lazy tramps; They've all walked out as one;
They've said they'll win the strike or put the bosses on the bum."
Men who work should be well paid – “A man's a man for a' that."
Many a man has a home to keep same as yourself, Old Fat.
Mothers, sisters, sweethearts, wives, children, too, galore
Stand behind the men to win this bread and butter war.
"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've left the camps, the lazy tramps; They've all walked out as one;
They've said they'll win the strike or put the bosses on the bum.
They've said they'll win the strike or put the bosses on the bum."
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.
"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've left the camps, the lazy tramps; They've all walked out as one;
They've said 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.
"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've left the camps, the lazy tramps; They've all walked out as one;
They've said they'll win the strike or put the bosses on the bum."
Fatty Rich, we know your game, know your pride is pricked.
Say - but why not be a man and own when you are licked?
They've joined the One Big Union – gee - for goodness‘ sake, get wise!
The more you try to buck them now, the more they'll organize.
"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've left the camps, the lazy tramps; They've all walked out as one;
They've said they'll win the strike or put the bosses on the bum."
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.
"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've left the camps, the lazy tramps; They've all walked out as one;
They've said they'll win the strike or put the bosses on the bum."
Get some dishes, white and clean; good, pure food to eat;
See that cook has help enough to keep the table neat;
Tap the bell for eight hours; treat the boys like men;
And fifty thousand lumberjacks may come to work again.
"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've left the camps, the lazy tramps; They've all walked out as one;
They've said they'll win the strike or put the bosses on the bum."
Men who work should be well paid – “A man's a man for a' that."
Many a man has a home to keep same as yourself, Old Fat.
Mothers, sisters, sweethearts, wives, children, too, galore
Stand behind the men to win this bread and butter war.
"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've left the camps, the lazy tramps; They've all walked out as one;
They've said they'll win the strike or put the bosses on the bum.
They've said they'll win the strike or put the bosses on the bum."
inviata da Bernart Bartleby - 23/4/2015 - 14:16
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Versi di autore anonimo, sull’aria di una canzone carceraria, “Portland County Jail”.
Canzone pubblicata sull’edizione del 1917 del “Little Red Songbook” dell’Industrial Workers of the World (IWW).
Testo trovato su Political Folk Music Dot Org
Una brano cantato dai taglialegna della regione del Pacific Northwest (comunemente compresa tra Oregon, Washington e British Columbia canadese) durante un grande sciopero per le 8 ore tenutosi nel 1917.
Il fatto che la prima motosega portatile sia stata inventata in Germania nel 1925 e commercializzata solo nei primi anni 30 fa immediatamente pensare a quanto questo lavoro, già di per sé ancora oggi faticoso, sia stato più duro assai fino a quel momento…