"You can listen to Woody Guthrie songs and actually learn how to live."
-Bob Dylan
Bob Dylan was right, of course. Woody Guthrie took the indigenous Anglo-American radical tradition, fused it with socialist ideas, and used it to forge a powerful moral critique of capitalism and its exploitation and abuse of working people, racial minorities, immigrants, and others. Some people nowadays are surprised when they learn that this great radical was born and raised in solid-red Oklahoma. But the Sooner State was red in a very different way back then. When Woody was born in 1912, Socialist Eugene V. Debs won 16.42% of the vote in Oklahoma, making the Sooner State the second-most socialist state, after Nevada, which gave Debs 16.47%.
I’m not going to provide a brief bio or tribute to Woody: those can be found all over the web.
Instead, let’s read some lyrics and enjoy some vintage folk music, which proves that as long as oppression exists, resistance will arise.
Plane Wreck at Los Gatos (Deportee)
Words by Woody Guthrie, Music by Martin Hoffman
Lyrics
The crops are all in and the peaches are rott'ning,
The oranges piled in their creosote dumps;
They're flying 'em back to the Mexican border
To pay all their money to wade back again
Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria;
You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees"
My father's own father, he waded that river,
They took all the money he made in his life;
My brothers and sisters come working the fruit trees,
And they rode the truck till they took down and died.
Some of us are illegal, and some are not wanted,
Our work contract's out and we have to move on;
Six hundred miles to that Mexican border,
They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.
We died in your hills, we died in your deserts,
We died in your valleys and died on your plains.
We died 'neath your trees and we died in your bushes,
Both sides of the river, we died just the same.
The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon,
A fireball of lightning, and shook all our hills,
Who are all these friends, all scattered like dry leaves?
The radio says, "They are just deportees"
Is this the best way we can grow our big orchards?
Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit?
To fall like dry leaves to rot on my topsoil
And be called by no name except "deportees"?
This Land Is Your Land
Words and Music by Woody Guthrie
This land is your land This land is my land
From California to the New York island;
From the red wood forest to the Gulf Stream waters
This land was made for you and Me.
As I was walking that ribbon of highway,
I saw above me that endless skyway:
I saw below me that golden valley:
This land was made for you and me.
I've roamed and rambled and I followed my footsteps
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts;
And all around me a voice was sounding:
This land was made for you and me.
When the sun came shining, and I was strolling,
And the wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling,
As the fog was lifting a voice was chanting:
This land was made for you and me.
As I went walking I saw a sign there
And on the sign it said "No Trespassing."
But on the other side it didn't say nothing,
That side was made for you and me.
In the shadow of the steeple I saw my people,
By the relief office I seen my people;
As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking
Is this land made for you and me?
Nobody living can ever stop me,
As I go walking that freedom highway;
Nobody living can ever make me turn back
This land was made for you and me.
Do Re Mi
Words and Music by Woody Guthrie
Lyrics
Lots of folks back East, they say, is leavin' home every day,
Beatin' the hot old dusty way to the California line.
'Cross the desert sands they roll, gettin' out of that old dust bowl,
They think they're goin' to a sugar bowl, but here's what they find
Now, the police at the port of entry say,
"You're number fourteen thousand for today."
Oh, if you ain't got the do re mi, folks, you ain't got the do re mi,
Why, you better go back to beautiful Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, Georgia, Tennessee.
California is a garden of Eden, a paradise to live in or see;
But believe it or not, you won't find it so hot
If you ain't got the do re mi.
You want to buy you a home or a farm, that can't deal nobody harm,
Or take your vacation by the mountains or sea.
Don't swap your old cow for a car, you better stay right where you are,
Better take this little tip from me.
'Cause I look through the want ads every day
But the headlines on the papers always say:
If you ain't got the do re mi, boys, you ain't got the do re mi,
Why, you better go back to beautiful Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, Georgia, Tennessee.
California is a garden of Eden, a paradise to live in or see;
But believe it or not, you won't find it so hot
If you ain't got the do re mi.
Tom Joad
Words and Music by Woody Guthrie
Lyrics
Tom Joad got out of the old McAlester Pen;
There he got his parole.
After four long years on a man killing charge,
Tom Joad come a-walkin' down the road, poor boy,
Tom Joad come a-walkin' down the road.
Tom Joad, he met a truck driving man;
There he caught him a ride.
He said, "I just got loose from McAlester Pen
On a charge called homicide,
A charge called homicide."
That truck rolled away in a cloud of dust;
Tommy turned his face toward home.
He met Preacher Casey, and they had a little drink,
But they found that his family they was gone,
He found that his family they was gone.
He found his mother's old-fashion shoe,
Found his daddy's hat.
And he found little Muley and Muley said,
"They've been tractored out by the cats,
They've been tractored out by the cats."
Tom Joad walked down to the neighbor's farm,
Found his family.
They took Preacher Casey and loaded in a car,
And his mother said, "We've got to get away."
His mother said, "We've got to get away."
Now, the twelve of the Joads made a mighty heavy load;
But Grandpa Joad did cry.
He picked up a handful of land in his hand,
Said: "I'm stayin' with the farm till I die.
Yes, I'm stayin' with the farm till I die."
They fed him short ribs and coffee and soothing syrup;
And Grandpa Joad did die.
They buried Grandpa Joad by the side of the road,
Grandma on the California side,
They buried Grandma on the California side.
They stood on a mountain and they looked to the west,
And it looked like the promised land.
That bright green valley with a river running through,
There was work for every single hand, they thought,
There was work for every single hand.
The Joads rolled away to the jungle camp,
There they cooked a stew.
And the hungry little kids of the jungle camp
Said: "We'd like to have some, too."
Said: "We'd like to have some, too."
Now a deputy sheriff fired loose at a man,
Shot a woman in the back.
Before he could take his aim again,
Preacher Casey dropped him in his track, poor boy,
Preacher Casey dropped him in his track.
They handcuffed Casey and they took him in jail;
And then he got away.
And he met Tom Joad on the old river bridge,
And these few words he did say, poor boy,
These few words he did say.
"I preached for the Lord a mighty long time,
Preached about the rich and the poor.
Us workin' folkses, all get together,
'Cause we ain't got a chance anymore.
We ain't got a chance anymore."
Now, the deputies come, and Tom and Casey run
To the bridge where the water run down.
But the vigilante thugs hit Casey with a club,
They laid Preacher Casey on the ground, poor Casey,
They laid Preacher Casey on the ground.
Tom Joad, he grabbed that deputy's club,
Hit him over the head.
Tom Joad took flight in the dark rainy night,
And a deputy and a preacher lying dead, two men,
A deputy and a preacher lying dead.
Tom run back where his mother was asleep;
He woke her up out of bed.
An' he kissed goodbye to the mother that he loved,
Said what Preacher Casey said, Tom Joad,
He said what Preacher Casey said.
"Ever'body might be just one big soul,
Well it looks that a-way to me.
Everywhere that you look, in the day or night,
That's where I'm a-gonna be, Ma,
That's where I'm a-gonna be.
Wherever little children are hungry and cry,
Wherever people ain't free.
Wherever men are fightin' for their rights,
That's where I'm a-gonna be, Ma.
That's where I'm a-gonna be."
John Henry
Lyrics
John Henry when he was a baby
settin' on his mammy's knee
picked up an hammer in his little right hand
Said "Hammer be the death of me me me,
hammer be the death of me!"
Some say he's born in Texas
Some say he's born up in Maine
I just say he was a Louisiana man
Leader of a steel-driving chain gang
leader on a steel-driving gang
"Well", the captain said to John Henry
"I'm gonna bring my steam drill around
gonna whup that steel on down down down
whup that steel on down!"
John Henry said to the captain (what he say?)
"You can bring your steam drill around
gonna bring my steam drill out on the job
I'll beat your steam drill down down down
beat your steam drill down!"
John Henry said to his Shaker
"Shaker you had better pray
If you miss your six feet of steel
It'll be your buryin' day day day
It'll be your buryin' day!"
Now the Shaker said to John Henry
"Man ain't nothing but a man
but before I'd let that steam drill beat me down
I'd die with an hammer in my hand hand hand
I'd die with an hammer in my hand!"
John Henry had a little woman
Her name was Polly Anne
John Henry took sick and was laid up in bed
While Polly handled steel like a man man man
Polly handled steel like a man.
They took John Henry to the graveyard
laid him down in the sand
Every locomotive comin' a-rolling by by by
hollered "there lies a steel-drivin' man man man
there lies a steel-drivin' man!"
John Henry had a little woman
Her name was Polly Anne
John Henry took sick and was laid up in bed
While Polly handled steel like a man man man
Polly handled steel like a man.
They took John Henry to the graveyard
laid him down in the sand
Every locomotive comin' a-rolling by by by
hollered "there lies a steel-drivin' man man man
there lies a steel-drivin' man!"
John Henry had a little woman
Her name was Polly Anne,
John Henry took sick and was laid up in bed
While Polly handled steel like a man man man
Polly handled steel like a man.
John Henry had a little woman
Her name was Polly Anne
John Henry took sick and was laid up in bed
While Polly handled steel like a man man man
Polly handled steel like a man.
They took John Henry to the graveyard
laid him down in the sand
Every locomotive comin' a-rolling by by by
hollered "there lies a steel-drivin' man man man
there lies a steel-drivin' man!"
They took John Henry to the graveyard
and laid him down in the sand
Every locomotive comin’ a-rollin’ by by by
hollered “there lies a steel driving man, man, man
there lies a steel driving man.”