“They ask us what we mean.
Well, here is our answer.
We mean to go on marching.
We mean to march in the morning and in the evening when the sun
goes down.
On Sundays they may sit on their porches or shout at men playing
ball in a field
But we will march.
On the hard cobblestones of the city streets and through the dust
of country roads we will march.
Our legs may be weary and our throats hot and dry,
But still we will march, shoulder to shoulder.
We will march until the ground shakes and tall buildings tremble.
Shoulder to shoulder we will go—all of us—
On and on forever.
We will not talk nor listen to talk.
We will march and we will teach our sons and our daughters to
march.
Their minds are troubled. Our minds are clear.
We do not think and banter words.
We march.
Our faces are coarse and there is dust in our hair and beards.
See, the inner parts of our hands are rough.
And still we march—we the workers.”