3.
OH, NO, JOHN

Now John worked in an open shop
With a fink and a stooge and a labor spy.
When a pay raise he requested,
He would get the stock reply:
"Oh, no, John, no John, no John, No."

Now John worked hard from morn 'til sunset
Toiled and toiled 'til very late.
He asked his boss to cut his hours,
And let him work the usual eight.
"Oh, no, John, no John, no John, No."

Now John just scratched his head and wondered
Why the boss did treat him so.
"Can it be he does not love me,
Or perhaps I've got B.O.?"
"Oh, no, John, no John, no John, No."

Oh, shall he read Carnegie's book on
How to win the boss' love,
Or do you suppose it's profit
That the boss is thinking of?
"Oh, no, John, no John, no John, No."

Now John arrived at work one morning,
Pickets marching to and fro.
Shall he cross the picket line
And scab upon the C.I.O.?
"Oh, no, John, no John, no John, NO."

So John picked up a picket sign;
Joined the union there and then.
Is there anyone can keep him
From his fellow working men?
"Oh, no, John, no John, no John, NO."

Now John got his two weeks vacation,
Cut his hours and raised his, pay.
Could he ever get these things
The cringing, crawling, pleading way's
"HELL, no, John, no John, no John, NO."

THE MILL WAS MADE OF MARBLE

I dreamed that I had died,
And gone to my reward;
A job in heaven's textile plant
On a golden boulevard.

CHORUS:
Where the mill was made of marble
And the machines were made out of gold,
Nobody ever got tired,
And nobody ever grew old.

This mill was built in a garden,
No dust or lint could be found;
And the air was so fresh and fragrant
With flowers and trees all around.

CHORUS:

It was quiet and peaceful in heaven,
There was no clatter or boom;
You could hear the most beautiful music,
As you worked at the spindle and loom.

CHORUS:

There was no unemployment in heaven.
We worked steady all through the year;
We always had food for the children,
We never were haunted by fear.

CHORUS:

When I woke from this dream about heaven,
I knew that there never could be;
A mill like that one down below here on earth.
For workers like you and like me.

CHORUS:

THE SCABS CRAWL IN
The scabs crawl in, the scabs crawl 
  out,
The scabs crawl under and all about. 
They crawl by day, they crawl by
  night,
They crawl because they're afraid to
  fight.
They crawl in early, they crawl in late.
They crawl in under the factory gate.

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