| F | Fsus | F | C | |
| Looking for some | work | to | do |
| F | C | Am | |
| And the | Statue of Liberty | waved him | by |
| C (Open D string/place finger on G st. 2nd fret/return) |
| As Joe come a sailing through, Joe Hill |
| C | G7 | C | |
| As | Joe come a | sailing | through. |
| Oh his clothes were coarse and his hopes were high |
| As he headed for the promised land |
| And it took a few weeks on the out-of-work streets |
| Before he began to understand |
| Before he began to understand |
| And Joe got hired by a bowery bar |
| sweeping up the saloon |
| As his rag would sail over the baroom rail |
| Sounded like he whistled on a tune |
| You could almost hear him whistling on a tune |
| And Joe rolled on from job to job |
| From the docks to the railroad line |
| And no matter how hungry the hand that wrote |
| In his letters he was always doing fine |
| In his letters he was always doing fine |
| Oh, the years went by like the sun goin' down |
| slowly turn the page |
| And when Joe looked back at the sweat upon his tracks |
| He had nothing to show but his age |
| He had nothing to show but his age |
| So he headed out for the California shore |
| There things were just as bad |
| So he joined the industrial workers of the world |
| 'Cause, The union was the only friend he had |
| 'Cause, The union was the only friend he had |
| Now the strikes were bloody and the strikes were black |
| as hard as they were long |
| In the dark of night Joe would stay awake and write |
| In the morning he would raise them with a song |
| In the morning he would raise them with a song |
| And he wrote his words to the tunes of the day |
| To be passed along the union vine |
| And the strikes were led and the songs were spread |
| And Joe Hill was always on the line |
| Yes Joe Hill was always on the line |
| Now in Salt Lake City a murder was made |
| There was hardly a clue to find |
| Oh, the proof was poor, but the sheriff was sure |
| Joe was the killer of the crime |
| That Joe was the killer of the crime |
| Joe raised his hands but they shot him down |
| he had nothing but guilt to give |
| It's a doctor I need and they left him to bleed |
| He made it 'cause he had the will to live |
| Yes, He made it 'cause he had the will to live |
| Then the trial was held in a building of wood |
| And there the killer would be named |
| And the days weighed more than the cold copper ore |
| Cause he feared that he was being framed |
| Cause he found out that he was being framed |
| Oh, strange are the ways of western law |
| Strange are the ways of fate |
| For the government crawled to the mine owner's call |
| That the judge was appointed by the state |
| Yes, The judge was appointed by the state |
| Oh, Utah justice can be had |
| But not for a union man |
| And Joe was warned by summer early morn |
| That there'd be one less singer in the land |
| There'd be one less singer in the land |
| Now William Spry was Governor Spry |
| And a life was his to hold |
| On the last appeal, fell a governor's tear |
| May the lord have mercy on your soul |
| May the lord have mercy on your soul |
| Even President Wilson held up the day |
| But even he would fail |
| For nobody heard the soul searching words |
| Of the soul in the Salt Lake City jail |
| Of the soul in the Salt Lake City jail |
| For 36 years he lived out his days |
| And he more than played his part |
| For his songs that he made, he was carefully paid |
| With a rifle bullet buried in his heart |
| With a rifle bullet buried in his heart |
| Yes, they lined Joe Hill up against the wall |
| Blindfold over his eyes |
| It's the life of a rebel that he chose to live |
| It's the death of a rebel that he died |
| It's the death of a rebel that he died |
| Now some say Joe was guilty as charged |
| And some say he wasn't even there |
| And I guess nobody will ever know |
| 'Cause the court records all disappeared |
| 'Cause the court records all disappeared |
| Say wherever you go in this fair land |
| In every union hall |
| In the dusty dark these words are marked |
| In between all the cracks upon the wall |
| In between all the cracks upon the wall |
| It's the very last line that Joe Will wrote |
| When he knew that his days were through |
| "Boys, this is my last and final will |
| Good luck to all of you |
| Good luck to all of you" |