Альбом Woody Guthrie

The year is nineteen and twenty, kind friends,
And the great World's War we have won.
Old Kaiser Bill, we've beat him once again
In the smoke of the cannon and the gun.
Old von Hindenburg and his Royal German Army,
They are tramps in tatters and in rags.
Uncle Sammy has tied every nation in this world
In his long old leather money bags.

Wilson caught a trip and a train into Paris,
Meetin' Lloyd George and Mr. Clemenceau.
They said to Mr. Wilson, "We've staked all of our claims,
There is nothing else for you."

"I plowed more lands, I built bigger fact'ries,
An' I stopped Hindenburg in his tracks.
You thank the Yanks by claimin' all the lands,
But you still owe your money to my bank."

"Keep sending your ships across these waters;
We'll borrow all the money you can lend.
We must buy new clothes, new plows, and fact'ries,
And we need golden dollars for to spend."

Ever' dollar in the world, well, it rolled and it rolled,
And it rolled into Uncle Sammy's door.
A few got richer, and richer, and richer,
But the poor folks kept but gettin' poor.

Well, the workers in the world did fight a revolution
To chase out the gamblers from their land.
Farmers, an' peasants, an' workers in the city
Fought together on their five-year plans.

The soul and the spirit of the workers' revolution
Spread across ever' nation in this world;
From Italy to China, to Europe and to India,
An' the blood of the workers it did spill.

This spirit split the wind to Boston, Massachussetts,
With Coolidge on the Governor's chair.
Troopers an' soldiers, the guards and the spies
Fought the workers that brought the spirit there.

Sacco and Vanzetti had preached to the workers,
They was carried up to Old Judge Thayer.
They was charged with killin' the payroll guards,
And they died in the Charlestown chair.

Well, the world shook harder on the night they died,
Than 'twas shaken by that great World War.
More millions did march for Sacco and Vanzetti
Than did march for the great war lords.

Well, the peasants, the farmers, the towns and the cities,
An' the hills and the valleys they did ring.
Hindenburg an' Wilson, an' Harding, Hoover, Coolidge,
Never heard this many voices sing.

The zigzag lightning, the rumbles of the thunder,
And the singing of the clouds blowing by,
The flood and the storm for Sacco and Vanzetti
Caused the rich man to pull his hair and cry.

Two good men a long time gone,
Two good men a long time gone
(Two good men a long time gone, oh, gone),
Sacco, Vanzetti a long time gone,
Left me here to sing this song.

Say, there, did you hear the news?
Sacco worked at trimming shoes;
Vanzetti was a peddling man,
Pushed his fish cart with his hands.

Sacco was born across the sea
Somewhere over in Italy;
Vanzetti was born of parents fine,
Drank the best Italian wine.

Sacco sailed the sea one day,
Landed up in Boston Bay;
Vanzetti sailed the ocean blue,
Landed up in Boston, too.

Sacco's wife three children had,
Sacco was a family man;
Vanzetti was a dreaming man,
His book was always in his hand.

Sacco earned his bread and butter
Being the factory's best shoe cutter;
Vanzetti spoke both day and night,
Told the workers how to fight.

I'll tell you if you ask me
'Bout this payroll robbery;
Two clerks was killed by the shoe factory
On the street in South Braintree.

Judge Thayer told his friends around
He would cut the radicals down;
Anarchist bastards was the name
Judge Thayer called these two good men.

I'll tell you the prosecutors' names,
Katsman, Adams, Williams, Kane;
The judge and lawyers strutted down,
They done more tricks than circus clowns.

Vanzetti docked here in 1908;
He slept along the dirty streets,
He told the workers “Organize”
And on the electric chair he dies.

All you people ought to be like me,
And work like Sacco and Vanzetti;
And every day find some ways to fight
On the union side for workers' rights.

I've got no time to tell this tale,
The dicks and bulls are on my trail;
But I'll remember these two good men
That died to show me how to live.

All you people in Suassos Lane
Sing this song and sing it plain.
All you folks that's coming along,
Jump in with me, and sing this song.

Oh, Sacco, Sacco,
Oh, Nicola Sacco,
Oh, Sacco, Sacco,
I just want to sing your name.
Sacco, Sacco, Sacco,
Sacco, oh, Sacco, Nicola,
Sacco, Sacco,
I just want to sing your name.

Oh, Rosie, Rosie,
Oh, Miss Rosie Sacco,
Oh, Rosie, Rosie,
I just want to sing your name.

I never did see you, see you,
I never did get to meet you.
I just heard your story, story,
And I just want to sing your name.

Hey, hey, Bart Vanzetti,
Hey, hey, Bart Vanzetti,
You made speeches for the workers, workers,
Well, I just want to sing your name.

Oh, Sacco, Vanzetti,
Oh, Sacco, Vanzetti,
Sacco, Sacco, Vanzetti,
I just want to sing your name.

Hey, Judge Webster Thayer,
Ho, ho, Judge Webster Thayer,
Hey, hey, old Judge Webster Thayer,
I don't want to sing your name.

Bart Vanzetti and Nicola Sacco,
Bart Vanzetti and Nicola Sacco,
Come here lookin' for the land of freedom,
I just want to sing your name.

Vanzetti sold fish around Plymouth Harbor,
Sacco was a shoe factory's best shoe-cutter,
All my sons and all of my daughters,
They're gonna help me sing your name.

Oh, Sacco, Sacco,
Hey, hey, Bart Vanzetti,
Your wife and kids and all your family,
I just want to sing your name.

Oh, Sacco, Vanzetti,
Hey, Sacco, Vanzetti,
Nicola Sacco, Bart Vanzetti,
I just want to sing your name.

Oh, ho, ho, ho,
Ho, ho, ho, ho,
Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho,
Ho, ho, ho, ho,
Yes, yes, yes, yes,
Yes, yes, yes, yes,
Yes, yes, yes, yes,
Well, I just want to sing your name.

Oh, pour me a drink of Italian red wine;
And let me taste it and call back to mind
Once more in my thoughts, and once more in my soul,
This story as great, if not greater, than all.
The AP news on June 24th
Told about a patrolman named Earl J. Vaugh.
He stepped on a Main Street trolley car
And arrested Sacco and Vanzetti there.

The article tells how Earl J. Vaugh
Is now retiring as an officer of law;
This cop goes down in my history
For arresting Sacco and Vanzetti that day.

It was 1920, the 5th of May,
The cop and some buddies took these men away,
Off of the car and out and down,
And down to the jail in Brockton town.

"There's been a killing and a robbery
At the Slater Morrill shoe factory;
You two gents are carryin' guns,
And you dodged the draft when the war did come."

"Yes, 'tis so, 'tis so, 'tis so,
We made for the borders of Mexico.
The rich man's war we could not fight,
So we crossed the border to keep out of sight."

"You men are known as radical sons,
You must be killers, you both carry guns."
"I'm a night watchman, my friend peddles fish,
And he carries his gun when he's got lots of cash."

Oh, pour me a glass of Germany's beer,
Russia's hot vodka, so strong and clear,
Pour me a glass of Palestine's Hock,
Or just a moonshiner's bucket of chock.

Now, let me think, and let me see
How these two men were found guilty.
How a hundred and sixty witnesses passed by,
And the ones spoke for them was a hundred and five.

Out of the rest, about fifty just guessed,
Out of the five that was put to the test
Only the story of one held true,
After a hundred and fifty nine got through.

And on this one, uncertain and afraid,
She saw the carload of robbers, she said.
One year later, she remembered his face,
After seein' his car for a second and a half.

She told of his hand, an' his gun, an' his ears,
She told of his shirt, an' the cut of his hair.
Remembered his eyes, an' his lips, an' his cheeks,
And Eva Splaine's tale sent these men to the chair.

I was right there in Boston the night that they died,
I never did see such sight in my life;
I thought the crowds would pull down the town,
An' I was hopin' they'd do it and change things around.

I hoped they'd pull Judge Thayer on down
From off of his bench and they'd chase him around.
Hoped they'd run him around this stump
And stick him with a devil tails about ever' jump.

Wash this tequila down with gin
An' a double straight shot of your black Virgin rum.
My ale bubbled out an' my champagne is flat,
I hear the man comin', I'm grabbin' my hat.

Goodbye, my comrades,
Goodbye, my north Plymouth,
Goodbye to the Boston harbor,
Goodbye, Suassos Lane.
Suassos Lane is just an alley
Up here in old north Plymouth.
You saw my fish cart
Roll here in Suassos Lane.
They say I killed him,
Said I killed the payroll carrier,
Over there in South Braintree,
Thirty-five miles from Suassos Lane.

My name is Lefevre Brini,
On the same day, Bart Vanzetti
Brought fish to the Cherry Court,
One block from Suassos Lane.

My name is Joseph Rosen,
I am a woolen peddler,
I sold Vanzetti a roll of cloth,
That day in Suassos Lane.

I'm Mrs. Alphonsine Brini,
Mr. Rosen and Bart Vanzetti
Showed me the cloth with big hole in it.
One block from Suassos Lane.

My name is Melvin Corl,
I's paintin' my fishin' schooner.
Vanzetti talked to me an hour,
About a mile from Suassos Lane.

How could I be in South Braintree,
Killin' men there in front of the fact'ry,
When all these friends and others saw me
Cartin' my fish in Suassos Lane?

I tell you workin' people,
Fight hard for higher wages,
Fight to kill blackmarket prices,
This is why you take my life.

I tell you workin' people,
Fight hard for cleaner houses,
Fight hard for the wife and children,
That's why they took my life.

Suassos Lane is just an alley
Up here in old north Plymouth.
You saw my fish cart
Roll here in Suassos Lane.

You souls of Boston, bow your heads,
Our two most noble sons are dead.
Sacco and Vanzetti both have died,
And drifted out with the Boston tide.
'Twas on the outskirts of this town,
Some bandits shot two pay clerks down,
On old Pearl Street in South Braintree,
And they grabbed that money and rolled away.

Sacco and Vanzetti got arrested then,
On a trolley car by the plain clothed men,
Carried down to Brockton jail,
And laid away in a lonesome cell.

The folks in Plymouth town did say
Vanzetti sold fish in Suassos Lane.
His fish cart was thirty-two miles away
From old Pearl Street this fatal day.

Sacco's family hugged and kissed their dad,
Said, "Take this family picture to the passport man."
He was in that office, forty odd miles away
From old Pearl Street this fatal day.

One lady by the name of Eva Splaine
Saw the robbers jump in their car and drive away.
For a second and a half she seen this speeding car,
She swore Sacco was the bandit man.

It was twenty, or thirty, or fifty more,
Said Sacco was not in the robber's car.
Judge Webster Thayer stuck by Eva Splaine,
Said Sacco was the guilty man.

Mrs. Sacco was heavy then with child,
She walked to Sacco's cell and cried.
The Morelli gang just down the corridor
signed confessions they killed the payroll guards.

"We seen Mrs. Sacco pregnant there,
We heard her cry and tear her hair.
We had to ease our guilty hearts
And admit we killed the payroll guards."

Judge Webster Thayer could not allow
The Morelli gang's confession to stop him now.
Sacco and Vanzetti are union men,
And that verdict, guilty, must come in.

The bullet expert took the stand,
Said the bullets from the bodies of the two dead men
Could not have been fired from Sacco's gun
Nor from Vanzetti's gun have come.

It was sixty-three days this trial did last;
Seven dark years come a-cripplin' past,
Locked down in that mean old Charlestown jail,
Then by an electric spark were killed.

Old Boston City was a dark old town,
That summer's night in August the switch went down,
People they cried and marched and sung,
Every tongue this world around.

This was never meant to be,
All the signs were there to see,
From the first moment that we met, I knew,
This was never meant to be.

This was always doomed to fail,
From the moment we set sail,
All our instincts told us we were wrong,
This was never meant to be.

But soon we were enraptured in love's dance,
When the dance ended I found,
I couldn't live without you.
And now, all of my dreams are sad embers
Here in the cold of December,
And now you're in the arms of someone else,
I always knew that...

This was always second best,
Our love would fall at the first test,
Common sense would tell us we were wrong,
This was never meant to be.

This was never meant to last,
We drank our cup of love to fast,
From the first moment that we met, I knew,
Now Miss, from our first kiss,
I tell you this was never meant to be.

I'm standin' on the rock, Vanzetti
Standin' on the rock, Vanzetti
Standin' on the rock, Vanzetti
Where men like you have stood
I see the tourists, Vanzetti
Around your Plymouth Rock
Black glasses, sun goggles, an' glasses
Smoked glasses to block out the light

I see 'em come here as you've seen 'em
I see lots more than you saw
I see 'em in fast running cars
You seen 'em in wagons and carts

I'm standin' on the rock, Vanzetti
Standin' on the rock, Vanzetti
Standin' on the rock, Vanzetti
Where men like you have stood

These tourists don't see you, Vanzetti
The salesmen and gamblers' on tour
Your footprints are dim an' your trail has sprung weeds
An' their tourist map don't show you there

The trade union workers, Vanzetti
Will vacation here and will tour
This rock, an' this town, an' Plymouth around
When statues have souls like yours

I'm standin' on the rock, Vanzetti
Standin' on the rock, Vanzetti
Standin' on the rock, Vanzetti
Where men like you have stood

Your picture is painted, Vanzetti
Your words are carved 'round the frames
Your songs an' your poems an' workin' folks' dreams
Will flame with our greatest of names

Your name I'll paint on my porters
My streets, my mountains an' shops
Your hopes that you hoped an' the dreams that you dreamt
I'll see that your work never stops

I'm standin' on the rock, Vanzetti
Standin' on the rock, Vanzetti
Standin' on the rock, Vanzetti
Where men like you have stood

Those talks for the workers, Vanzetti
I'll chisel 'em down on the rock
I'll tell every worker to fight like you fought
Like the Pilgrims that docked on this rock

I'll scatter your words on my waters
To the ships an' the fishes an' gulls
I'll cast your fish cart in metal so fine
An' push it around this world

I'm standin' on the rock, Vanzetti
Standin' on the rock, Vanzetti
Standin' on the rock, Vanzetti
Where men like you have stood

Standin' on the rock, Vanzetti
Standin' on the rock, Vanzetti
Standin' on the rock, Vanzetti
Where men like you have stood

The year, it is 1927, an' the day is the third day of May;
Town is the city called Boston, an' our address this dark Dedham jail.
To your honor, the Governor Fuller, to the council of Massachussetts state,
We, Bartolomo (sic) Vanzetti, an' Nicola Sacco, do say:
Confined to our jail here at Dedham an' under the sentence of death,
We pray you do exercise your powers an' look at the facts of our case.
We do not ask you for a pardon, for a pardon would admit of our guilt;
Since we are both innocent workers, we have no guilt to admit.

We are both born by parents in Italy, can't speak English too well;
Our friends of labor are writin' these words, back of the barsin our cell.
Our friends say if we speak too plain, sir, we may turn your feelings away,

Widen these canyons between us, but we risk our life to talk plain.

We think, sir, that each human bein' is in close touch with all of man's kind,
We think, sir, that each human bein' knows right from the wrong in his mind.
We talk to you here as a man, sir, even knowing our opinions divide;
We didn't kill the guards at South Braintree, nor dream of such a terrible crime.

We call your eye to this fact, sir, we work with our hand and our brain;
These robberies an' killings, were done, sir, by professional bandit men,
Sacco has been a good cutter, Mrs. Sacco their money has saved;
I, Vanzetti, l could have saved money, but I gave it as fast as received.

l'm a dreamer, a speaker, an' a writer; I fight on the working folks' side.
Sacco is Boston's fastest shoe trimmer, and he talks to the husbands and wives.
We hunted your land, and we found it, hoped we'd find freedom of mind,
Built up your land, this Land of the Free, an' this is what we come to find.

If we was those killers, good Governor, we'd not be so dumb and so blind
To pass out our handbills and make workers' speeches, out here by the scene of the crime.
Those fifteen thousands of dollars the lawyers and judge said we took,
Do we, sir, dress up like two gentlemen with that much in our pocketbook?

Our names are on the long list of radicals of the Federal Government, sir,
They said that we needed watching as we peddled our literature.
Judge Thayer's mind's made up, sir, when we walked into the court;
Well, he called us anarchistic bastards, said lots of other things worse.

They brought people down there to Brockton to look through the bars of our cell,
Made us act out the motions of the killers, and still not so many could tell.

Before the trial ever started, the jury foreman did say,
An' he cussed us an' said, "Damn they, well, they'd ought to hang anyway."
Our fatal mistake was carryin' our guns, about which we had to tell lies
To keep the police from raiding the homes of workers believing like us.

A labor paper, or a picture, a letter from a radical friend,
An old cheap gun like you keep around home, would torture good women and men.
We all feared deporting and whipping, torments to make us confess
The place where the workers are meeting, the house, your name, and address.

Well. the officers said we feared something which they called a consciousness of guilt.
We was afraid of wreckin' more homes, and seein' more workers' blood spilt.
Well, the very first question they asked us was not about killing the clerks,
But things about our labor movement, and how our trade union works.

Oh, how could our jury see clearly, when the lawyers, and judges, and cops
Called us low type Italians, said we looked just like regular wops,
Draft dodgers, gun packers, anarchists, these vulgar sounding names,
Blew dust in the eyes of jurors, the crowd in the courtroom the same.

We do not believe, sir, that torture, beatings, and killings and pains
Will lift man's eyes to a highest of view an' break his bilbos and chains.
We believe that you must struggle for freedom before your freedom you'll gain,
Freedom from fear, sir, and greed, sir, and your freedom to think higher things.

This fight, sir, is not a new battle, we did not make it last night,
'Twas fought by Godwin, Shelly, Pisacane, Tolstoy and Christ;
It's bigger than the atoms an' the sands of the desert, planets that roll in the sky;
Till workers get rid of their robbers, well, it's worse, sir, to live than to die.

Your Excellency, we're not askin' pardon but askin' to be set free,
With liberty, and pride, sir, and honor, and a pardon we will not receive.
A pardon you given to criminals who've broken the laws of the land;
We don't ask you for pardon, sir, because we are innocent men.

Well, if you shake your head "no", dear Governor, of course, our doom it is sealed.
We hold up our heads like two sons of men, seven years in these cells of steel.
We walk down this corridor to death, sir, like workers have walked it before,
But we'll work in our working class struggle if we live a thousand lives more.

Root hog and die, friend, root hog and die,
Gotta get to Boston, root hog and die.
Sacco and Vanzetti die at sundown tonight,
So I've got to get to Boston, root hog and die.
Train wheel can roll me, cushions can ride,
Ships on the oceans, planes in the skies.
Storms they can come, Lord, flood waters rise,
But I've got to get to Boston, ror two men'll die.

Nicola Sacco, a shoe factory hand,
Bartolomo (sic) Vanzetti, a trade union man,
Judge Webster Thayer swore they'll die,
But I've got to get to Boston, 'fore sundown tonight.

I might walk around, an' I might roll or fly,
Walkin' down this road shoulder, tears in my eyes.
They never done a wrong in their lives,
But Judge Webster Thayer says they must die.

Well, some come to Boston to see all the sights,
Some come to Boston to drink and to fight.
Sacco and Vanzetti told the workers "Organize!",
So Judge Webster Thayer says they must die.

Oh, Mr. Wagon Driver, please let me ride,
That's a nice-pacin' team that you got here all right.
Did you ever hear such a thing in your life?
Judge Webster Thayer killin' two men tonight.

Hey, Mr. Engineer, lemme ride your train,
Throw in your coal an' steam up your steam.
If I can't ride the shack, please lemme ride the blind,
Got to get to Boston 'fore sundown tonight.

We welcome to heaven Sacco and Vanzetti,
Two men that have won the highest of seats.
Come, let me show you the world that you've come through,
It's a funny old world, an' I'm sure you'll admit.
If you wear rags on earth, you're a hobo,
If you wear satin, they call you a thief.
If you save money, they'll call you a miser,
If you spend money, you live on relief.

If you work hard, of course, you are lowly,
And if you're a loafer, of course, you're no good.
If you stay sober, you're known as a sissy,
An' if you drink liquor, it goes to your head.

If you are fat, they'll call you a glutton,
If you stay skinny, they'll call you a runt.
If you laugh, they'll say you're an idiot,
An' if you cry, they'll ask you to stop.

If you chase women, they'll call you a wolfer,
If you don't chase them, they'll call you no good -- an' afraid.
If you chase men, they'll call you down-harden' (?),
An' if you don't chase them, they'll call you an old maid.

If you eat your meat fried, they'll tell you to boil it,
Then, if you boil it, they'll say it should broil.
An' if you don't eat meat, and eat only green things,
They'll ask you what's wrong with the brain in your skull.

Well, if you work for wages, you support the rich capitalist,
And if you don't work, you're a lumpen to them.
And if you play the gamble, of course, you're a gambler,
An' if you don't gamble, you never do win.

If you stay poor, nobody comes courting,
If you get rich, well, you can't find a mate.
If you get married, you're wrecking your happiness,
And if you stay single, you walk to your grave.

If you die in your cradle, it's a sad misfortune,
If you live to old age, well, it's harder and worse.
If you read the papers, you know it is many
That take their lives daily when they empty their purse.

There's traders, and trappers, and shippers, and hopers,
Sacco and Vanzetti, in America's fair lands.
There's hoppers, and croppers, and robbers, an' dopers,
And millions of folks with just two empty hands.

You come the straight road, Sacco and Vanzetti,
You fought with the lord on his most private grounds.
He hired his courts and his babblers against you,
But I'm here to say you went up and not down.

If nothing happens, they will electrocute us right after midnight.
Therefore here I am right with you, with love and with open heart, as I was yesterday.
Don't cry, Dante, for many, many tears have been wasted,
As your mother's tears have been already wasted for seven years,
And never did any good.
So, son, instead of crying, be strong, be brave,
So as to be able to comfort your mother.
And when you want to distract her from the discouraging soulness,
You take her for a long walk in the quiet countryside,
Gathering flowers here and there
And resting under the shade of trees, beside the music of the waters.
The peacefulness of nature, she will enjoy it very much,
And you will surely, too.
But, son, you must remember: Don't use all yourself,
But down yourself, just one step,
To help the weak ones at your side.

The weaker ones that cry for help, the persecuted and the victim,
They are your friends, friends of yours and mine.
They are the comrades that fight -- yes, and sometimes fall
Just as your father, your father and Bartolo, have fallen,
Have fought and fell, yesterday, for the conquest of joy,
Of freedom for all.
In the struggle of life you'll find, you'll find more love,
And in the struggle, you will be loved also.