We Will Sing One Song

We will sing one song of the meek and humble slave,
The horny-handed song of toil,
He's toiling hard from the cradle to the grave,
But his master reaps the profit form his toil.
Then we'll sing one song of the greedy master class,
They're vagrants in broadcloth indeed,
They live by robbing the ever-toiling mass,
Human blood they spill to satisfy their greed.

Chorus

Organize! Oh, toilers, come organize your might;
Then we'll sing one song of the workers' commonwealth.
Full of beauty, full of love and health.

We will sing one song of the politician sly,
He's talking of changing the laws;
Election day all the drinks and smokes he'll buy,
While we make the welking ring with our applause.
Then we'll sing one song of the girl below the line,
She's scorned and despised everywhere,
While in their mansions the "keepers" wine and dine
From the profits that immoral traffic bear.

We will sing one song of the children in the mills, 
They're taken from playgrounds and schools,
In tender years made to go the pace that kills, 
in the sweatshops, 'mong the looms and the spools.
Then we'll sing one song of the One Big Union Grand, 
The hope of the toiler and slave,
It's coming fast! it is sweeping sea and land, 
To the terror of the grafter and the knave.