Jungle Sermon & Dump The Bosses Off Your Back

Close to the turn of the century we begin to see a different kind of people showing up in the labor camps. They look like everybody else, wearing the same thousand-mile shirt, the same brogans and overalls, but they talk a little different, they talk about different things. They carry around a notebook and a pencil. Those are labor organizers, not the style we have today, not the kind who sits down in the AFL-CIO labor temple and wears a suit and tie and has a sign on his door that says, "Organizer".
This is the kind of a guy who will go onto a job and work there for two or three years, learning the job, learning the skill, doing that trade until he knows all the ins and outs of it. He knows the problems that everybody on that job is having. When he talks about organizing, he knows what he's talking about.
He's not the hit-and-run organizer; he's not dodging into the camp and dodging out again. He's sticking with it, and he's building an organization slowly. He's not building it on his own charisma or his own ability to lead. He's uncovering the leadership among the people working on that job, guiding here and nudging there. He's not grandstanding. He knows there's a difference between organizing and leading, and that you can't do both.
That's a background organizer, and the West was full of them. You never heard of most of them. That's because they got turned in by some fink in the outfit, and they wound up being planted in an unmarked grave out on the edge of town, or just thrown into the garbage dump or off a railroad bridge. They're the real heroes of the American labor movement.
In this recitation I visualize one of these men, sitting down under a railroad bridge with a bunch of guys booming on to another job, talking about where they'd come from and where they were going, and how they might be able to get together and change the way they had to live. This is really a conversation in poetry.
It's followed by a song that was commonly used in the jungle camps to conclude one of these bull sessions. "Dump the Bosses Off Your Back" is meant to be sung unaccompanied, as loudly and raucously as possible. The people you're singing with should chime in on the refrain, as loud as they can. The old labor organizers used to like to use hymn tunes because everybody knew them and everybody could sing them. They'd change the words so they made more sense. This one is sung to "Take It to the Lord in Prayer" or "What a Friend We Have in Jesus".

I guess you think I'm gonna preach a sermon,
Like that fancy revival dude last night;
But this ain't no Sunday school,
And you ain't nobody's fool,
So I'll tell it plain and I'll try to tell it right.

Now, we all look like a bunch of dirty tramps,
Scattered out through all these jungle camps;
Well, I know our shoes ain't shined,
And we can't dress so fine,
But at doin' work, why we're the world's champs!

Now, Charlie here, he can build a train,
Knows how to use his muscle and his brain,
But ever since St. Paul
He can't find a job at all,
Since they hit him with that goddamn broken crane.

And Lefty there, he knows a thing or two,
But there's not much work a one-arm man can do;
He was working on a freight
When he dropped a pin too late,
Now I suppose his railroad days are through.

There's young Tom just up from Tennessee;
His folks were farmers, at least they used to be;
Bad weather took the best,
The banker took the rest,
Now he's up here boomin', just like you and me.

I wish old Sam here could testify,
But he can't, you all know the reason why;
He had some kind of stroke
When the rotten timbers broke,
And they hauled him out just as empty as the sky.

Well, everybody here has got a tale
Of how we put our bodies up for sale;
But when the work gets slow
We got nothin' left to show,
'Cept this stew we built around a rusty nail.

Now boys, this here's the sermon part:
The boss has got a cinder for a heart;
You know that he won't rest
And he's gonna do his best
To bust us up before we even 'start.

But if we can build a dam and dig a mine,
Cut the wheat and run a railroad line;
If we can do all that,
Then boys, I'll eat my hat,
If we can't build a union just as fine.

Oh sure, they'll call it Roosian anarchy,
Or some bad "ism", just you wait and see;
We'll have to make it plain
There's nothing in a name,
So why don't we just call it "you and me".

Well, boys, it's gettin' late and that's a fact,
And I guess it's time that we all hit the sack;
You think about it now,
Maybe get a notion how
We can dump the goddamn bosses off our back.

Are you almost split asunder?
Loaded like a long-eared jack?
Boob, why don't you buck like thunder?
And dump the bosses off your back!
All the agonies you suffer,
You can end with one good whack;
Stiffen up, you orn'ry duffer,
And dump the bosses off your back!

Copyright ©1973, 2000 Bruce Phillips

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