I'm Labor, song lyrics

Song: I'm Labor
Lyrics: Samuel H. Friedman⁽²⁾

Music: Harry Mayer
Year: 1920's or 1930's
Genre:
Country: USA

I dig your ditches; I’m labor.
I man your switches; I’m labor.
I teach your kids and make your shoes;
I sew your pants and write your news.
With brain and brawn, with nerve and threws, I’m labor. (He’s labor!)

I’m common folk; I’m labor.
I’m always broke; I’m labor.
I run your mails in rain and snow;
I clear the track so the train can go.
But someone else gets all the dough;
I’m labor. (He’s labor!)

I have no say; I’m labor.
I just obey; I’m labor.
I slaved through years of hate and war,
And spilled my blood and my brothers’ gore.
But did I know what the shooting was for?
I’m labor. (He’s labor!)
This song was originally posted on protestsonglyrics.net
I’m starved and kicked; I’m labor.
I’m always licked; I’m labor.
When I ply my needle, trowel or pick,
I’m a decent sheeny, wop or mick,
But when I strike, I’m a bolshevik⁽³⁾.
I’m labor. (He’s labor!)

I don’t get tired; I’m labor.
Or else I’m fired; I’m labor.
From birth to death my life is spent
In hovel, shack or tenement,
But still some landlord gets the rent.
I’m labor. (He’s labor!)

I’m very humble; I’m labor.
I never grumble; I’m labor.
In summer heat or winter gale,
I pack a load or swing a flail,
But someone else rakes in the kale.
I’m labor. (He’s labor!)
This song was originally posted on protestsonglyrics.net
I fight your fires; I’m labor.
I cleanse your mires; I’m labor.
Your towers that top the mountain crest,
Your teeming East, your bounteous West,
I wrought them, I, the dispossessed.
I’m labor. (He’s labor!)

I drill your sewers; I’m labor.
I plow your moors; I’m labor.
On earth, in mine, on sea, and in sky,
I swarm and toil and fight and die,
But capital claims it takes the risks.
I’m labor. (He’s labor!)

At last, I’m waking; I’m labor.
My chains I’m breaking; I’m labor.
Too long I’ve waited for this hour;
No more to wealth and name I’ll cower;
I’ll rise, unite and use my power.
I’m labor. (He’s labor!)
This song was originally posted on protestsonglyrics.net
I’m done with hoping; I’m labor.
I’m done with groping; I’m labor.
I’ll put to work the boss and drone;
No more they’ll reap what I have sown;
I’ll come at last into my own.
I’m labor. (He’s labor!)

Notes:

1 - Rebel Song Book, Eighty-seven Socialist and Labor Songs for Voice and Piano, Rand School Press, New York, NY, 1935, p. 26.

2 - Samuel H. Friedman (1897 - 1990) a labor union activist. Information from Wikipedia.

3 - Bolsheviks.