6.
NO MORE AUCTION BLOCK

No more auction block for me,
No more, no more.
No more auction block for me,
Many thousand gone.

2.  No more peck o' corn for me...

3.  No more drivers' lash for me...

4.  No more pint o' salt for me...

5.  No more hundred lash for me...

6.  No more mistress' call for me...
 

BREAD AND ROSES

As we come marching, marching
In the beauty of the day,
A million darkened kitchens,
A thousand workshops gray
Are touched with all the radiance
That sudden sun discloses
For the people hear us singing
"Bread and Roses, Bread and Roses."

As we come marching, marching,
We battle too, for men.
For they are women's children
And we mother them again,
Our lives shall not be sweated
From birth until life closes,
Hearts starve as well as bodies;
Give us bread, but give us roses.

As we come marching, marching,
Unnumbered women dead
Go crying through our singing
Their ancient song of bread!
Small art and love and beauty
Their drudging spirits knew.
Yes, it is bread we fight for --
But we fight for roses, too.

As we come marching, marching,
We bring the greater days.
The rising of the women
Means the rising of the race.
No more the drudge and idler --
Ten that toil where one reposes --
But a sharing of life's glories:
Bread and roses, bread and roses.

GREAT DAY

One of these mornings bright and fair,
We're gonna build our union strong.
Put on your wings and try the air,
We're gonna build our union strong.

CHORUS:
Great Day!
Great Day, the union's marching.
Great Day!
We're gonna build our union strong.

One of these mornings and it won't be
  long,
We're gonna build our union strong.
Look for the scabs and they'll all be
  gone,
We're gonna build, our union strong.

CHORUS:
 

THIS WORLD
     (Tune: Funiculi, Funicula)

Some say the world was made for men's
  enjoyment,
And so do I, and so do I.
Then why do we have wars and
  unemployment?
Now tell me why, now tell me why.
The earth is but a vast abundant
  storehouse,
And nothing more, and nothing more.
The bosses and the landlords called
  it their house,
And locked the door, and locked the
  door.

CHORUS: 
Listen, listen, things have gone too
  far.
We won't stand for things the way they
  are (the working man is getting sore,
  the working man is getting sore),
BUILD a Yipsel circle and help open
  up the door, HEY!

...adapted from a STFU song


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