The Everett County Jail

In the prison cell we sit
Are we broken hearted—nit.
We're as happy and as cheerful as can be,
For we know that every Wob
Will be busy on the job,
Till they swing the prison doors and set us free.

Chorus

Are you busy, Fellow Workers,
Are your shoulders to the wheel?
Get together for the cause
And some day you'll make the laws,
It's the only way to make the masters squeal.

Though the living is not grand,
Mostly mush and "coffee and,"
It's as good as we expected when we came.
It's the way they treat the slave
In this free land of the brave,
There is no one but the working class to blame.

When McRae, and Veith, and Black
To the Lumberyards go back
May they travel empty handed as they came.
May they turn in their report
That the Wobs still hold the fort,
That a rebel is an awful thing to tame.

When the 65 per cent
That they call the "working gent"
Organizes in a Union of its class,
We will then get what we're worth
That will be the blooming earth.
Organize and help to bring the thing to pass.