| They cut us out after two nights down
|
| They called me John Doe the seventy four
|
| Hitchhiking back to the Mission we swung in
|
| When a red car opened a door
|
| The little geezer, a local Caesar
|
| In the movement since the crash
|
| He gave us lunch with his union bunch
|
| Who get their windows smashed but never their hopes dashed
|
| Hey, we’re glory bound
|
| One big hammerblow to your crown
|
| Hey, gonna knock 'em down
|
| Swinging one big hammerblow
|
| Hey, we’re glory bound
|
| One big hammerblow to your crown
|
| Hey, gonna knock 'em down
|
| Swinging one big hammerblow
|
| Down in the mist by the golden bridge
|
| The night watchman was on patrol
|
| He kicked us out of the bushes and said
|
| Go get a couch with the brothers of soul
|
| And if ya need 'em, they even feed 'em
|
| At the public garden walls and then he said
|
| With a wink, we haven’t gone extinct
|
| Unlike Che Guevara, Marx and Pravda
|
| Hey, we’re glory bound
|
| One big hammerblow to your crown
|
| Hey, gonna knock 'em down
|
| Swinging one big hammerblow
|
| Work through a cramp
|
| Burn the midnight lamp
|
| From out of dingy Chinatown
|
| Out in the fog you can hear that horn
|
| Shake the lonely room with sound
|
| Mopping the hall is a good longshoreman from the Spanish Civil War
|
| Ten thousand names in a book of claims
|
| That lie fading in some bottom drawer
|
| Sing it, brothers
|
| L’internationale sera le genre humain
|
| Hey, we’re glory bound
|
| One big hammerblow to your crown
|
| Hey, gonna knock 'em down
|
| Swinging one big hammerblow
|
| Hey, we’re glory bound
|
| One big hammerblow to your crown
|
| Hey, gonna knock 'em down
|
| Swinging one big hammerblow
|
| Swinging one big hammerblow
|
| Swinging one big hammerblow
|
| One big hammerblow |