wobbly

Wobbly DeHorn Crew

If you've got a bunch of guys who've been doing a job, a hard job like hard rock mining, and they come into town to have a little fun, you've got some labor organizers there trying to get a meeting together, so everybody can talk about what a screwing it is working on those jobs.
It's like trying to pull today's union man away from his TV set to get him to go to a union meeting where something important was going on: you'd have to set his house on fire. Back then, the problem was flushing the guys out of the bars and the whorehouses and gambling halls.
The Western Federation of Miners and the I. W. W. used to use de-horn crews. This is a bunch of tough guys who would go around to the bar owner or to the madam and say, "Your place is going to be closed tonight. " And they would stay there to make sure it was closed, and nobody would get in. They'd kick all the doors open and throw everybody out. At the same time somebody would be out in the street, yelling about how there was this meeting going to take place at this hall. They'd fix it so there wasn't any place else to go.
There's another part of de-horning. The only way a lot of guys could get from job to job was on the freights. The tinhorns and card sharks would know when a harvest had let out up in Minet, North Dakota, and the guys would be leaving the Minet yards to catch the wheat in Idaho. The tinhorns would be right there in the yard. They'd get in the boxcars, and they'd con these guys into poker games, and then just fleece them right and left, just the old army game.
Part of de-horning was having a few guys working that yard who were able to spot a tinhorn. They'd con him into a game; then, as soon as they caught him cheating, they'd nail him. They'd throw him out the door in such a way that he fell under the wheels. This practice was known as "greasing the rails".

We knew we had our man by the way he laid 'em down,
Or maybe by the way he raked it in.
A greenhorn might think he had the hottest luck in town,
But a gambler doesn't need no luck to win.

He dealt 'em from the bottom and the band inside his hat
And places, boys, I'm just too proud to say.
He was so damned crooked, I'll tell you for a fact,
He had to screw his pants on every day.

Well, I fumbled in my bedroll for a little tinhorn bait,
A Missouri bankroll bigger than your fist.
I stole it at a diner where I nearly always ate,
But that roll of toilet paper won't be missed.

He reached inside his jacket and threw down on the crew,
'Twas a fancy little nickel-plated gun.
Then he hollered, "Hand it over," but that stranger never knew
That we was there to have a little fun.

I threw a feint, Billy swung, but Curly did the job;
We picked it up, and out the door he sails.
Now let that be a lesson, if you try to bilk a Wob,
You'll find you're only fit to grease the rails.

So listen fellow workers, there's hijacks everywhere,
That's how the bosses build up all that lard;
But if you've got to gamble, make sure the game is square,
And bet your money on your union card.

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