THE REBEL GIRL
Words and Music by Joe Hill
There are women of many descriptions
In this queer world, as everyone knows,
Some are living in beautiful mansions,
And are wearing the finest of clothes.
There are blue blooded queens and princesses,
Who have charms made of diamonds and pearl;
But the only and thoroughbred lady
Is the Rebel Girl.
CHORUS
Thatās the Rebel Girl, thatās the Rebel Girl!
To the working class sheās a precious pearl.
She brings courage, pride and joy
To the fighting Rebel Boy.
Weāve had girls before, but we need some more
In the Industrial Workers of the World.
For itās great to fight for freedom
With a Rebel Girl.
Yes, her hands may be hardened from labor,
And her dress may not be very fine;
But a heart in her bosom is beating
That is true to her class and her kind.
And the grafters in terror are trembling
When her spite and defiance sheāll hurl;
For the only and thoroughbred lady
Is the Rebel Girl.
Words and Music of āThe Rebel Girlā may be obtained in popular sheet form by applying to I. W. W. Publishing Bureau. Price 25 cents.
THE INTERNATIONALE
By Eugene Pottier
(Translated by Charles H. Kerr)
Arise, ye prisoners of starvation!
Arise, ye wretched of the earth,
For justice thunders condemnation,
A better worldās in birth.
No more traditionās chains shall bind us,
Arise, ye slaves; no more in thrall!
The earth shall rise on new foundations,
We have been naught, we shall be all.
REFRAIN
āTis the final conflict,
Let each stand in his place,
The Industrial Union
Shall be the human race.
We want no condescending saviors
To rule us from a judgment hall;
We workers ask not for their favors;
Let us consult for all.
To make the thief disgorge his booty
To free the spirit from its cell,
We must ourselves decide our duty,
We must decide and do it well.
Behold them seated in their glory,
The kings of mine and rail and soil!
What have you read in all their story,
But how they plundered toil?
Fruits of the workersā toil are buried
In the strong coffers of a few;
In working for their restitution
The men will only ask their due.
WE WILL SING ONE SONG
By Joe Hill
(Air: āMy Old Kentucky Homeā)
We will sing one song of the meek and humble slave,
The horny-handed son of toil,
Heās toiling hard from the cradle to the grave,
But his master reaps the profit from his toil.
Then weāll sing one song of the greedy master class,
Theyāre 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 weāll sing one song of the workersā commonwealth.
Full of beauty, full of love and health.
We will sing one song of the politician sly,
Heās talking of changing the laws;
Election day all the drinks and smokes heāll buy,
While we make the welkin ring with our applause.
Then weāll sing one song of the girl below the line,
Sheās scorned and despised everywhere,
While in their mansions the ākeepersā wine and dine
From the profits that immoral traffic bear.
We will sing one song of the preacher, fat and sleek,
He tells you of homes in the sky.
He says, āBe generous, be lowly and meek,
If you donāt youāll sure get roasted when you die.ā
Then weāll sing one song of the poor and ragged tramp,
He carries his home on his back;
Too old to work, heās not wanted āround the camp,
So he wanders without aim along the track.
We will sing one song of the children in the mills,
Theyāre taken from playgrounds and schools,
In tender years made to go the pace that kills,
In the sweatshops, āmong...