CAPO 5. FRET ^C We made our way up 99 in the ^F springtime of the ^C year The San Joaquin was all in bloom and^D songbirds every^Gwhere We ^C chanced upon a workingman ^F lying by the ^C road I judged him for a truck driver by the ^G clothes that he ^C wore We drew some nearer to him then, inquiring of his name “Well, here’s three little angels come down for to carry me home Then, bear me up to Jesus now, my Savior I shall see You ain’t no regular angels boys, but that’s alright by me.” Then Lefty, stepping forward, addressed the dying man Saying, “We’re no angels brother but we’ll do all we can. What cowards set upon you, sir, and dealt the fatal blow? We’ll pull out every working man from here to Ohio.” “It was no vigilante gang, nor ranch boss thugs this time, But the meatloaf special dinner I had on highway 99 A comely waitress served me there, she cooled me with her fan, But fatal meatloaf has struck down this old truck driving man.” Then Lefty reached down in his bag saying, “You ain’t dying friend, Just take a drink of whiskey now, you’ll feel alright again.” All through the night we lingered there and passed that bottle round We hauled aboard at sunrise, lit out for Frisco town. Now, the workingman must be well warned whenever headlines scream “Your rights must yield, the bombs must fall to save democracy.” The flag they fly, their stew of lies served up at voting time Like poison under the gravy on highway 99