[Lyric] The Ballad of Frank Little (Dusty The Kid)

The sun rose over Homestake in the early morning fog
And a man got off a train bound straight for glory
With a red card in his pocket and a fire in his eye
Frank Little was his name and this his story

To the town of Butte, Montana where they work down in the mines
Trading waking hours for blood and sweat and sorrow
Digging copper for the bosses while they throw us not but dimes
And praying that we see the sun tomorrow

Just two weeks ago, a thousand feet beneath the ground
Two hundred men burned alongside their brothers
Against the doorless bulkheads of thе Speculator Mine
They probably diеd calling for their mothers

Frank Little walked into the town and made his reason known
He's a Wobbly that has been sent from Chicago
He's organized the workers from the mountains to the sea
And he's here to fight for you and fight for me

The lumber camps out in Missoula to the quarries of Spokane
To the oil fields and the dock boys of Wisconsin
Even the migrant workers on the California farms
He organized and inspired his fellow man
We're gonna' strike
We're gonna' strike
We're gonna' strike boys like you never struck before
From the mines up to the shops we're gonna' pull out all the stops
And we'll never stand alone forevermore
You're a worker of the world forevermore

He stood with us through the beatings from The Company's hired men
'Till the picket line stretched on a hundred thousand
Side by side we made a promise, we would not be slaves again
Deafening the bosses with our howling

The workers, Little told, are worth a thousand years in gold
We were never meant to bleed for bread and roses
You can't give up this fight
Hold the picket line tonight
Workers of the World
Unite
Unite

In the early August morning they kicked in Franky's door
And drug him naked out into the street
Those yellow bastards tortured him
Company men and Pinkertons
They tied him up and knocked him off his feet
The sun rose over Homestake in the early morning fog
And a mountain wind went whistling through the trees
Frank Little swung there gently from the Milwaukee bridge
A noose 'round his neck and blood running down his knees

Well, they thought they'd break the strike if they took Frank Little's life
But The Company was gravely mistaken
From Haymarket to Montana is a sea of red bandanas
And the breath of revolution can't be taken

We're gonna' strike
We're gonna' strike
We're gonna' strike boys like you've never struck before
We fought a thousand years alone
We stared down death all on our own
But we'll never stand alone forevermore
We're The Workers of the World forevermore