With the strikers power broken and a trigger finger sure.
His "gat" was in his pocket, he could "legally" get by,
And the miners had to cringe before his hate-envenomed eye.
Why should he fear the living when he had not feared the dead
With a government machine-gun on the hill-top overhead?
We said "Don't fret, we'll get you yet; we know what we're about,
But we won't wait and starve our hate until the leaves come out
We'll make you pay, remember that, for all the dirt you've done,
And your black soul will be in hell before tomorrow's sun!"
He headed for the hollow and he swaggered as he went—
This martyr to his master's rifle-guarded twelve percent.
Next morning came the soldiers for to find out what we knew,
And of course we only asked them what in hell could miners do
When the hills are full of yellow-legs, their rifles full of lead
And a murderous machine-gun teaching caution overhead.
They pleaded with each one of us to kindly tell them all;
We 'lowed as how their friend got drunk and likely had a fall.
We saw that gleaming bluish glint upon each army gun
51
