Come all of you poor workers, good news to you I'll tell.
Of how that good old union has come in here to dwell.
We are starting our good battle we know we're sure to win
because we got the gun thugs looking pretty thin.
They say in Harlan County. There are no neutrals there.
You'll either be a union man, or a thug for J.H. Blair.
Oh, workers can you stand it?
Oh, tell me how you can.
Will you be a lousy scab, or will you be a man?
Don't scab for the bosses, don't listen to their lies.
Poor folks ain't got a chance unless we organize.
Oh death, oh death, please spare me over for another year
My grandpa was a miner he's now in the air and sun
he'll be with you fellow workers till every battle's won.