Abstract
The Song the Capitalist Never Sings I want to be a working man and with the workers roam, The cross-roads for my palace car, a bull-pen for my home; I want to be a member of that free, untrammeled band, A ball-chain on my ankle and a pick-axe in my hand. I want to be a working man and hear the bosses sing The praise of “honest labor” while the big blue whistles ring; To cheer the starry banner 'till my empty insides bust, And be a company sucker 'till my ragged form is dust. Covington Hall, in The Rebel, 1912
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