This song was written by Millard Lampell, Lee Hays
And yours truly, Pete Seeger
In the spring of 1941
That was the year that Henry Ford was being organized into the CIO
And Woody Guthrie had taught the three of us the old talking blues
You know, if you want to get to heaven, let me tell you what to do
Got to grease your feet in little muttons too
And I think Millard was sort of paraphrasing that
And Lee added a verse, and I added a verse
And suddenly we had the song almost completed, except that we hadn't found any solution
We'd, all we'd done is add up the problems that we hadn't found how to solve any of them
And about a month went by, and one day I was sitting up in the roof and realized that
There's only one solution to it, the old one will stick together
So I made two verses to end it off, none of them rhymed
And that's how the song "Talking Union" was born
Now, if you want higher wages let me tell you what to do
You got to talk to the workers in the shop with you
You got to build you a union, got to make it strong
But if you all stick together, boys, it won't be long
You get shorter hours, better working conditions
Vacations with pay, take your kids to the seashore
It ain't quite this simple, so I better explain
Just why you got to ride on the union train
'Cause if you wait for the boss to raise your pay
We'll all be awaitin' 'til Judgment Day
We'll all be buried
Gone to heaven
St. Peter'll be the straw boss then, boys
Now you know you're underpaid, but the boss says you ain't
He speeds up the work 'til you're 'bout to faint
You may be down and out, but you ain't beaten
You can pass out a leaflet and call a meetin'
Talk it over, speak your mind
Decide to do somethin' about this
Course, the boss may persuade some poor damn fool
To go to your meetin' and act like a stool
But you can always tell a stool, though, that's a fact
He's got a yaller streak a-runnin' down his back
He doesn't have to stool, you know, he'll always make a good livin'
On what he takes out of blind men's cups
Well, you got a union now, you're sittin' pretty
Put some of the boys on the steering committee
The boss won't listen if one guy squawks
But he's got to listen when the union talks, he better
He'd be mighty lonely, one of these days
Suppose he's working you so hard it's just outrageous
Paying you all starvation wages
You go to the boss and the boss would yell
"Before I raise your pay, I'd see you all in hell"
He's puffing a big seegar, feeling mighty slick
Thinks he's got your union licked
He looks out the window and what does he see
But a thousand pickets, and they all agree
He's a bastard, unfair, slavedriver
Bet he beats his wife
Now boys, you've come to the hardest time
The boss will try to bust your picket line
He'll call out the police, the National Guard
Tell you it's a crime to have a union card
They'll raid your meetin', they'll hit you on the head
They'll call every one of you a goddam red
Unpatriotic, Moscow agents, bomb throwers, even the kids
Well, out in Detroit, here's what they found
Down in Pittsburgh, here's what they found
Down at Bethlehem, here's what they found
Out in Frisco, here's what they found
That if you don't let red-baiting break you up
If you don't let stool-pigeons break you up
If you don't let race hatred break you up
If you don't let vigilantes break you up, you'll win
What I mean, take it easy, but take it
