We go around all dressed in rags while the rest of the world goes to eat.
And we gotta be satisfied with half enough to eat.
We have to live in lean-to's or else we live in a tent.
Cause when we buy our bread and beans, there's nothing left for rent.
I'd rather not be on the rosary leaf or work on the WPA.
I'd rather work for the farmer if the farmer could raise the pay.
Then the farmer could plant more cotton and he'd have more money for spuds.
Instead of wearing patches, we'd dress up in new duds.
From the east to west, the north and the south, like a swarm of bees we'd bum.
The migratory workers are worse off than the bum.
We go to Mr. Farmer and we ask him what he pays.
He says you gypsy workers can live on a buck a day.
I'd rather not be on the rosary leaf or work on the WPA.*
I'd rather work for the farmer if the farmer could raise the pay.
Then the farmer could plant more cotton and he'd have more money for spuds.
Instead of wearing patches, we'd dress up in new duds.
Now we're not asking for luxuries nor even a feather bed.
But we're bound to raise the dickens while our families are underfed.
Now the winter is on us and the cotton picking is done.
What are we gonna live on while we wait for the spuds to come?
I'd rather not be on the rosary leaf or work on the WPA.
I'd rather work for the farmer if the farmer could raise the pay.
Then the farmer could plant more cotton and he'd have more money for spuds.
Instead of wearing patches, we'd dress up in new duds.
Now if you'll all excuse me, I'll bring my song to an end.
I've got to go and chomp a crack where the howling wind comes in.
But times are gonna better and I guess you'd like to know.I'll tell you all about it.
I've joined the CIO.**
And we gotta be satisfied with half enough to eat.
We have to live in lean-to's or else we live in a tent.
Cause when we buy our bread and beans, there's nothing left for rent.
I'd rather not be on the rosary leaf or work on the WPA.
I'd rather work for the farmer if the farmer could raise the pay.
Then the farmer could plant more cotton and he'd have more money for spuds.
Instead of wearing patches, we'd dress up in new duds.
From the east to west, the north and the south, like a swarm of bees we'd bum.
The migratory workers are worse off than the bum.
We go to Mr. Farmer and we ask him what he pays.
He says you gypsy workers can live on a buck a day.
I'd rather not be on the rosary leaf or work on the WPA.*
I'd rather work for the farmer if the farmer could raise the pay.
Then the farmer could plant more cotton and he'd have more money for spuds.
Instead of wearing patches, we'd dress up in new duds.
Now we're not asking for luxuries nor even a feather bed.
But we're bound to raise the dickens while our families are underfed.
Now the winter is on us and the cotton picking is done.
What are we gonna live on while we wait for the spuds to come?
I'd rather not be on the rosary leaf or work on the WPA.
I'd rather work for the farmer if the farmer could raise the pay.
Then the farmer could plant more cotton and he'd have more money for spuds.
Instead of wearing patches, we'd dress up in new duds.
Now if you'll all excuse me, I'll bring my song to an end.
I've got to go and chomp a crack where the howling wind comes in.
But times are gonna better and I guess you'd like to know.I'll tell you all about it.
I've joined the CIO.**
Note .
* WPA : The Works Progress Administration (WPA; from 1935 to 1939, then known as the Work Projects Administration from 1939 to 1943) was an American New Deal agency that employed millions of jobseekers (mostly men who were not formally educated) to carry out public works projects,[1] including the construction of public buildings and roads. It was set up on May 6, 1935, by presidential order, as a key part of the Second New Deal.
[ Wikipedia ]
** CIO : The Congress of Industrial Organizations (CIO) was a federation of unions that organized workers in industrial unions in the United States and Canada from 1935 to 1955.
[ Wikipedia ]
* WPA : The Works Progress Administration (WPA; from 1935 to 1939, then known as the Work Projects Administration from 1939 to 1943) was an American New Deal agency that employed millions of jobseekers (mostly men who were not formally educated) to carry out public works projects,[1] including the construction of public buildings and roads. It was set up on May 6, 1935, by presidential order, as a key part of the Second New Deal.
[ Wikipedia ]
** CIO : The Congress of Industrial Organizations (CIO) was a federation of unions that organized workers in industrial unions in the United States and Canada from 1935 to 1955.
[ Wikipedia ]
envoyé par Pluck - 7/8/2025 - 21:57
Langue: anglais
A seguire il testo di " Rolls of Relief " che il sito:
"The American Yawp Reader" presenta sotto un titolo diverso:
"I’d Rather Not Be on Relief" e con una nota sull'autore Lester Hunter*.
Testo verosimilmente corretto rispetto alla precedente trascrizione della traccia audio di "The 198 String Band " in "Music From The Depression".
Fonte:Lester Hunter, “I’d Rather Not Be on Relief” (1938) The American Yawp Reader
[Source: Lester Hunter, “I’d Rather Not Be on Relief” (1938). Available online via Archive of Folk Culture, Library of Congress]
"The American Yawp Reader" presenta sotto un titolo diverso:
"I’d Rather Not Be on Relief" e con una nota sull'autore Lester Hunter*.
Testo verosimilmente corretto rispetto alla precedente trascrizione della traccia audio di "The 198 String Band " in "Music From The Depression".
Fonte:Lester Hunter, “I’d Rather Not Be on Relief” (1938) The American Yawp Reader
[Source: Lester Hunter, “I’d Rather Not Be on Relief” (1938). Available online via Archive of Folk Culture, Library of Congress]
I’D RATHER NOT BE ON RELIEF
We go around all dressed in rags
While the rest of the world goes neat,
And we have to be satisfied
With half enough to eat.
We have to live in lean-tos,
Or else we live in a tent,
For when we buy our bread and beans
There’s nothing left for rent.
I’d rather not be on the rolls of relief,
Or work on the W. P. A.,
We’d rather work for the farmer
If the farmer could raise the pay;
Then the farmer could plant more cotton
And he’d get more money for spuds,
Instead of wearing patches,
We’d dress up in new duds.
From the east and west and north and south
Like a swarm of bees we come;
The migratory workers
Are worse off than a bum.
We go to Mr. Farmer
And ask him what he’ll pay;
He says, “You gypsy workers
Can live on a buck a day.”
I’d rather not be on the rolls of relief,
Or work on the W. P. A.,
We’d rather work for the farmer
If the farmer could raise the pay;
Then the farmer could plant more cotton
And he’d get more money for spuds,
Instead of wearing patches,
We’d dress up in new duds.
We don’t ask for luxuries
Or even a feather bed.
But we’re bound to raise the dickens
While our families are underfed.
Now the winter is on us
And the cotton picking is done,
What are we going to live on
While we’re waiting for spuds to come?
Now if you will excuse me
I’ll bring my song to an end.
I’ve got to go and chuck a crack
Where the howling wind comes in.
The times are going to better
And I guess you’d like to know
I’ll tell you all about it,
I’ve joined the C. I. O.
We go around all dressed in rags
While the rest of the world goes neat,
And we have to be satisfied
With half enough to eat.
We have to live in lean-tos,
Or else we live in a tent,
For when we buy our bread and beans
There’s nothing left for rent.
I’d rather not be on the rolls of relief,
Or work on the W. P. A.,
We’d rather work for the farmer
If the farmer could raise the pay;
Then the farmer could plant more cotton
And he’d get more money for spuds,
Instead of wearing patches,
We’d dress up in new duds.
From the east and west and north and south
Like a swarm of bees we come;
The migratory workers
Are worse off than a bum.
We go to Mr. Farmer
And ask him what he’ll pay;
He says, “You gypsy workers
Can live on a buck a day.”
I’d rather not be on the rolls of relief,
Or work on the W. P. A.,
We’d rather work for the farmer
If the farmer could raise the pay;
Then the farmer could plant more cotton
And he’d get more money for spuds,
Instead of wearing patches,
We’d dress up in new duds.
We don’t ask for luxuries
Or even a feather bed.
But we’re bound to raise the dickens
While our families are underfed.
Now the winter is on us
And the cotton picking is done,
What are we going to live on
While we’re waiting for spuds to come?
Now if you will excuse me
I’ll bring my song to an end.
I’ve got to go and chuck a crack
Where the howling wind comes in.
The times are going to better
And I guess you’d like to know
I’ll tell you all about it,
I’ve joined the C. I. O.
* Lester Hunter left the Dust Bowl for the fields of California and wrote this poem, later turned into a song by migrant workers in California’s Farm Security Administration camps. The “C.I.O.” in the final line refers to the Congress of Industrial Unions, a powerful new industrial union founded in 1935.
envoyé par Pluck - 19/8/2025 - 10:28
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"Original ‘migrant’ song " as sung by:"The 198 String Band "
This song was collected by Margaret Valiant in a migrant camp in California. Valiant was working for the Library of Congress and her material was collected in 1939 and 1940.
This clever song explains the rudiments of agricultural pricing and the effects on the workers. The melody seems to be original. Interestingly, the collector Charles Todd, during an interview which took place in 1980, referred to this song in a somewhat negative manner. He stated that the authorship lay with a professor from Vassar College who was visiting the camps. He stated that he could not remember her name but that she tried to pass this off as an original ‘migrant’ song. No matter the source of the song it is good and paints a broad picture of the migrants’ plight.
It is sung here by The 198 String Band.
Fonte: Music for the depression