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Woody Guthrie




Music World  →  Lyrics  →  W  →  Woody Guthrie  →  Albums  →  Struggle

Woody Guthrie Album



1976
1.
Struggle Blues
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
Lost John
9.
10.
11.
12.
Massacre
. . .

Struggle Blues

[No lyrics]

. . .


Ade Olay E-E
Ade Olay E-E
E-E-E-E-E

A friend of mine bought an automobile
At a dollar down and a dollar a week.
Every time he turned the wheel,
It was a dollar down and a dollar a week.

He went riding down the road,
Pinched this girl upon her cheek.
Speed cop took him to the judge,
He got a dollar down and a dollar a week.

Sixty days he laid in jail,
At a dollar down and a dollar a week,
Another man was a lovin' his gal,
At a dollar down and a dollar a week.

When he got out he shot the man,
And laid him in the graveyard six feet deep.
And when he bought the graveyard spot,
it was a dollar down and a dollar a week.

Ade olay E-E
Ade olay E-E
Ade olay E-E
E-E-E-E-E (repeat)

. . .


Oh, little doggies,
It's your misfortune and not of my own.
Whoop-ee-ti-yi-o get along little doggies,
You know that Wyoming will be your new home.

A cattle trail drunk and a hard road to travel,
That old Jack O' Diamonds is a hard card to play.
Get along, get along, get along little doggies,
Get along little doggies and be on your way.

Whoop-ee-ti-yi-o get along little doggies,
It's your misfortune and not of my own.
Whoop-ee-ti-yi-o get along little doggies,
You know that Wyoming will be your new home.

Some boys have bit this old cow trail for pleasure,
But that's where they get it most awfully wrong.
I wish I could tell you the troubles they give us,
As we go rolling these doggies along.

Whoop-ee-ti-yi-o get along little doggies,
It's your misfortune and not of my own.
Whoop-ee-ti-yi-o get along little doggies,
You know that Wyoming will be your new home.

. . .


Did you ever see a hangman tie a hangknot?
Did you ever see a hangman tie a hangknot?
I've seen it many a time and he winds, he winds,
After thirteen times he's got a hangknot.

Tell me will that hangknot slip, no it will not,
Will that hangknot slip, no it will not.
Slip around your neck, but it won't slip back again
Hangknot, hangknot, that hangknot.

Did you ever lose your father on a hangknot?
Did you ever lose your father on a hangknot?
They hung him from a pole, and they shot him full of holes,
Left him there to rot on that hangknot.

Tell me who makes the laws for that hangknot?
Who makes the laws for that hangknot?
Who says who will go to the calaboose?
Get the hangman's noose on a hangknot.

I don't know who makes the law for that hangknot.
I don't know who makes the law for that hangknot.
But the bones of many a men are whistling in the wind,
Just because they tied their laws with a hangknot.

. . .


Tell the miners' kids and wives,
There's a blast in the number five.
And the families I see standing at the gate.
The inspector years ago said number five's a deadly hole,
And the men most likely won't come out alive.

Waiting at the gate, we are waiting at the gate.
Smoke and fire just roll and boil from that dark and deadly hole,
While the miners' kids and wives wait at the gate.

The inspector told the boss, it was more than a year ago,
You're risking these men's lives in number five.
That hole's full of fumes and dust, full of high explosive gas,
But the boss said we'll just have to take the chance.

Waiting at the gate, we are waiting at the gate.
Smoke and fire just roll and boil from that dark and deadly hole,
While the miners' kids and wives wait at the gate.

Well the men in the number five kissed their wives and kids goodbye,
Then they walk with their lunch kits up the hill.
Everybody told the owner that this deadly day would come,
But he said we had to work to pay our bills.

Waiting at the gate, we are waiting at the gate.
Smoke and fire just roll and boil from that dark and deadly hole,
While the miners' kids and wives wait at the gate.

Well I tried to get a look of the face I often know,
As the men are carried out wrapped up in sheets.
I can hear the church bells ringing for the one hundred eleven dead,
I can hear the families weeping in the streets.

Waiting at the gate, we are waiting at the gate.
Smoke and fire just roll and boil from that dark and deadly hole,
While the miners' kids and wives wait at the gate.

This explosion struck on Wednesday,
and I stood by the gate till Saturday,
Till they laid my daddy out with the other men.
In the pocket of his shirt I found a little note he wrote,
Never go down in a dangerous mine again.

Waiting at the gate, we are waiting at the gate.
Smoke and fire just roll and boil from that dark and deadly hole,
While the miners' kids and wives wait at the gate.

. . .


It happened an hour ago,
Way down in this tunnel of coal,
Gas caught fire from somebody's lamp.
And the miners are choking in smoke.

Goodbye to Dickie and Honey,
Goodbye to the wife that I love.
Lot of these men not coming home,
Tonight when the work whistle blows.

Dear sisters and brothers goodbye,
Dear mother and father goodbye.
My fingers are weak and I cannot write,
Goodbye Centralia, goodbye.

It looks like the end for me,
And all of my buddies I see.
We're all writing letters to children we love,
Please carry our word to our wives.

We, found a little place in the air,
Crawled and drug ourselves here.
But the smoke is bad and the fumes coming in,
And the gas is burning my eyes.

Dear sisters and brothers goodbye,
Dear mother and father goodbye.
My fingers are weak and I cannot write,
Goodbye Centralia, goodbye.

Forgive me for the things I done wrong,
I love you lots more than you know.
When the night whistle blows and I don't come home,
Do all that you can to help mom.

I can hear the moans and groans,
More than a hundred good men.
Just work and fight and try to see,
That this never happens again.

Dear sisters and brothers goodbye,
Dear mother and father goodbye.
My fingers are weak and I cannot write,
Goodbye Centralia, goodbye.

My eyes are blinded with fumes,
But it sounds like the men are all gone,
'Cept Joe Valentini, Fred Gussler and George,
Trapped down in this hell hole of fire.

Please name our new baby Joe,
So he'll grow up like big Joe.
He'll work and he'll fight and he'll fix up the mines,
So fire can't kill daddy no more.

Dear sisters and brothers goodbye,
Dear mother and father goodbye.
My fingers are weak and I cannot write,
Goodbye Centralia, goodbye.

. . .


I see they're lowering right new coffin,
I see they're letting down right new coffin,
Way over in that Union Burying Ground.
And the new dirt's falling on a right new coffin,
The new dirt's falling on a right new coffin
Way over in that Union Burying Ground.
O, tell me who's that they're letting down, down,
Tell me who's that they're letting down, down,
Way over in that Union Burying Ground.
Another union organizer,
Another union organizer,
Way over in that Union Burying Ground.
A union brother and a union sister,
A union brother and a union sister,
Way over in that Union Burying Ground.
A union father and a union mother,
A union father and a union mother,
Way over in that Union Burying Ground.
Well, I'm going to sleep in a union coffin,
I'm going to sleep in a union coffin,
Way over in that Union Burying round.
Every new grave brings a thousand new ones,
Every new grave brings a thousand members,
Way over in that Union Burying round.
Every new grave brings a thousand brothers,
Every new grave brings a thousand sisters,
Way over in that Union Burying round.

. . .

Lost John

[No lyrics]

. . .


Come all you old time cowboys,
And listen to my song,
Please do not grow weary,
I'll not detain you long.
Concerning some wild cowboys,
Who did agree to go,
Spend the summer pleasant,
On the trail of the Buffalo.
I found myself in Griffin,
In the spring of '83,
When a well known famous drover,
Came walking up to me.
Said, "How do you do, young fellow,
Well how would you like to go,
And spend the summer pleasant,
On the trail of the Buffalo?"
Well I being out of work right then,
To the drover I did say,
"Going out on the Buffalo Road,
Depends on the pay.
If you will pay good wages,
And transportation to and fro,
I think I might go with you,
On the hunt of the Buffalo."
"Of course I'll pay good wages,
And transportation too,
If you will agree to work for me,
Until the season's through."
But if you do get homesick,
And try to run away,
You will starve to death,
Out on the trail and also lose your pay."
Well with all his flattering talking,
He signed up quite a train,
Some 10 or 12 in number,
Some able bodied men.
The trip it was a pleasant one,
As we hit the westward road,
Until we crossed old Boggy Creek,
In old New Mexico.
There our pleasures ended,
And our troubles began.
A lightening storm hit us,
And made the cattle run.
Got all full of stickers,
From the cactus that did not grow,
And the outlaws watching,
To pick us off in the hills of Mexico.
Well our working season ended,
And the drover would not pay,
If you had not drunk too much,
You are all in debt to me.
But the cowboys never had heard,
Such a thing as a bankrupt law,
So we left that drover's bones to bleach,
On the Plains of the Buffalo.

. . .


If you'll gather 'round me, children,
A story I will tell
'Bout Pretty Boy Floyd, an outlaw,
Oklahoma knew him well.

It was in the town of Shawnee,
A Saturday afternoon,
His wife beside him in his wagon
As into town they rode.

There a deputy sheriff approached him
In a manner rather rude,
Vulgar words of anger,
An' his wife she overheard.

Pretty Boy grabbed a log chain,
And the deputy grabbed his gun;
In the fight that followed
He laid that deputy down.

Then he took to the trees and timber
To live a life of shame;
Every crime in Oklahoma
Was added to his name.

But a many a starving farmer
The same old story told
How the outlaw paid their mortgage
And saved their little homes.

Others tell you 'bout a stranger
That come to beg a meal,
Underneath his napkin
Left a thousand dollar bill.

It was in Oklahoma City,
It was on a Christmas Day,
There was a whole car load of groceries
Come with a note to say:

Well, you say that I'm an outlaw,
You say that I'm a thief.
Here's a Christmas dinner
For the families on relief.

Yes, as through this world I've wandered
I've seen lots of funny men;
Some will rob you with a six-gun,
And some with a fountain pen.

And as through your life you travel,
Yes, as through your life you roam,
You won't never see an outlaw
Drive a family from their home.

. . .


It was early springtime that the strike was on
They moved us miners out of doors
Out from the houses that the company owned
We moved into tents at old Ludlow

I was worried bad about my children
Soldiers guarding the railroad bridge
Every once in a while a bullet would fly
Kick up gravel under my feet

We were so afraid they would kill our children
We dug us a cave that was seven foot deep
Carried our young ones and a pregnant woman
Down inside the cave to sleep

That very night you soldier waited
Until us miners were asleep
You snuck around our little tent town
Soaked our tents with your kerosene

You struck a match and the blaze it started
You pulled the triggers of your gatling guns
I made a run for the children but the fire wall stopped me
Thirteen children died from your guns

I carried my blanket to a wire fence corner
Watched the fire till the blaze died down
I helped some people grab their belongings
While your bullets killed us all around

I will never forget the looks on the faces
Of the men and women that awful day
When we stood around to preach their funerals
And lay the corpses of the dead away

We told the Colorado governor to call the President
Tell him to call off his National Guard
But the National Guard belong to the governor
So he didn't try so very hard

Our women from Trinidad they hauled some potatoes
Up to Walsenburg in a little cart
They sold their potatoes and brought some guns back
And put a gun in every hand

The state soldiers jumped us in a wire fence corner
They did not know that we had these guns
And the red neck miners mowed down them troopers
You should have seen those poor boys run

We took some cement and walled that cave up
Where you killed those thirteen children inside
I said, "God bless the Mine Workers' Union"
And then I hung my head and cried

. . .

Massacre

[No lyrics]

. . .


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