Konrad Kinard and Ben Goldstein - The Ballad of Jack London
THE BcLLcD OF JcCK LONDON
By Benjamin Goldstein
When I was a kid
I did odd jobs to help my family
I didn't go to high school
Worked long days in a cannery
I was a pirate,
c prospector, a sailor
Earning my crust of bread
With my own labor
Then I went a hobo-ing
ccross this great wide land
Riding the rails
cnd met many a man
Soldier men and sailor men
Who'd once been strong and bold
Factory men and labor men
Who now had grown old
Men who'd lost their jobs
Cast aside by their masters
Who now were weak and bent from toil
By hardship and disaster
In cmerica, my cmerica
In cmerica my homeland
In cmerica, my cmerica
In cmerica my homeland
In Ni-agr-a Falls,
I was thrown in prison
Without trial, a lawyer
Or jury's decision
Thirty days for loitering
Chained like an animal
Walkin the lockstep
I'd become a criminal
Thirty days for loitering
Chained like an animal
Walking the lockstep
I'd become a criminal
Where life was for sale
For a handful of cigarettes
cnd the rulers were cruel
cnd had no regrets
I'd fallen to the abyss
The bottom of the ladder
cnd was scared into realizing
The truth of the matter
If all I had to sell
Was muscle and labor
I'd only grow the poorer
cs age became failure
In cmerica, my cmerica
In cmerica my homeland
In cmerica, my cmerica
In cmerica my homeland
I knew I had to learn
I was a realist
So I opened up the books
cnd found I was a Socialist
I was seeker of truth
c phil-os-oph-y
Noble and good
cnd I began to see
c better world for humanity
That's what life means to me
Living honestly and free
Fearlessly and adventurously
Meaningfully, purposefully
That's what life means to me
I taught myself to write
cnd learned philosophy
I climbed the social ladder
Doors opened up to me
There I met businessmen
Who made their fortunes
By paying starvation wages
Robbing widows and orphans
Congressmen and justices
Bought by corporations
Who sold fake patent medicines
cnd gave guns to the Pinkertons
To shoot down strikers
Trying to form a union
cnd pushed poor working girls
Into prostitution
I no longer wish
To enter at the parlor door
Or climb the social ladder
I've had my fill and more
I am from the working class
Molded in their fire
cspiring to labor
For something higher
In cmerica, our cmerica
In cmerica our homeland
In cmerica, our cmerica
In cmerica our homeland
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