Their uniforms don't fit so well.
Their caps and shoes don't look so new.
They have a different tale to tell
Than when they fought for me and you.
Alas! Their dreams have not come true.
They rode the finest Pullmans then.
They had the best of food to eat;
Were cheered and honored by all men;
But now -- they're down and out and beat.
This country, for which they gave their very best,
Has made of every man a slave---
An army of the sore oppressed;
To them it is a bitter test.
They have no jobs, no food, no home.
They've sought for work from year to year.
They've asked in vain for just a loan,
But no relief seems even near.
And so, they march as once before,
They're going to ask for what is right.
If Congress dares their wish ignore
They may put up a little fight---
For now they know that "right is might,"
Let's get behind them, every one.
Let's cheer them as they march away.
Let's help to keep them on the job
'Til Uncle Sam digs up their pay.