From Rude Rural Rhymes by Bob Adams, New York: The Macmillan Company; 1925; pp. 121-122.
COAL STRIKES
We do not know how strikes may go,
Who loses or who wins,
But when the winter breezes blow
We shiver in our skins.
The laborer should have his hire,
For that I’d always vote,
But can’t the miner get his share
And not make us the goat?
We should not mind if their disputes
Were settled once for all,
But every year renews the strife
In summer, spring or fall.
Within our thick and bony domes,
This thought should penetrate,
When capital and labor fight
The public pays the freight.
Within our minds this fact should sink,
I hope it does not stun them,
The state must either run the mines
Or boss the folks that run them.
Who cuts off coal and thus purloins
The comfort from my shack,
He might as well come steal the shirt
[122]
From off my goosefleshed back.
Though you and I could freeze a lot
In justice for our sins,
The homes with little kids must have
Good coal within their bins.
The opal is alive with light,
The ruby flashes fire,
But good black diamonds are the gems
That people most admire.
We feel the evils of the times
And fain would vote to end ’em,
Yet know not how to do the job
Without a referendum.
Whichever party is in power,
That party gets the blame,
But when we turn the rascals out,
All things remain the same.
When capital and labor fight,
Whichever wins or slumps,
The patient public pays the bills,
And also gets the bumps.
Yea, some of us begin to think,
Although they fight like thunder,
They likely grin behind our backs
And divvy up the plunder.