More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image  On U.S. 99. Near Brawley, Imperial County. Homeless family of seven, walking the highway from Phoenix, Arizona, where they picked cotton. Bound for San Diego, where the father hopes to get on the relief because he once lived there  Farm Security Administration/Office of War Information Black and White Negatives, U.S. Library of Congress, LC-USF34- 019075-E

Lyrics

Without so much as “how d’you do sir?” or “appreciate it, thanks!”
They took money from our pockets and gave it to the banks
Who came collecting on the mortgage and put us on the street
Where we’ve been scratching for survival, sleeping on our feet
‘Cause the cops would come to roust us when we found a place to lie
Unwelcome back in town we tried gave the countryside a try
But the farmers they don’t want us ‘cause the river’s running dry
What are working folks to do?
Well I guess we’re supposed to die
What are working folks to do?
I guess we’re supposed to die

When the boss shut down the factory he put a big sign on the door
“You fellas clear on out, ain't no men wanted here no more"
The government man he queued us up for charity instead
‘Til so many hungry people showed they ran all outta bread
If we’re getting’ weaker by the minute like cattle being bled
Who’ll work the mines and mills and farms if there are better times ahead?
So I buttonholed a bankerman and this is what I said:
What are you fat cats gonna do
When us working folks are dead?
What are you fat cats gonna do sir
When us working folks are dead?

When after '29 and '30, '31 and '32
You've lost all hope of finding work an honest man can do 
So you've got  no better answer to “daddy what else can we try?”
Than what are working folks to do son–
I guess we’re supposed to die
What are working folks to do son?
I guess we’re supposed to die


What are Working Folks to Do? (I Guess We're Supposed to Die)

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project write 101 original Americana songs based on photos from the Great Depression. More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image: Father and son, idle American workman, near Bridgton, New Jersey, Farm Security Administration - Office of War Information Photograph Collection (Library of Congress)

Lyrics:

We’re in a bad way, and very nearly fairly, squarely broke
We’re having hard times, and running close to wholly out of hope
‘Cause liquidation, see, has been very much in fashion in these parts
And for each factory shut, you’ll find a hundred broken homes and broken hearts—

‘Cause redundancy it’s a bitter pill to swallow
When the boss man, he says “we won’t need you tomorrow”
And eventually, you’ve nothing left to beg or borrow--
Without work a bad way just keeps getting worse
We’re in a bad way, and something’s got to give
‘Cause the fact is sir “man must work to live”
Without work a bad way’s likely to get worse

It’s a sad day, guaranteed to be dejecting
We got bills to pay, and I’m afraid that I’m expecting 
The banker man to come around collecting
Foreclosure, hell, that would put us on the street
But pay the mortgage, well, and we can’t afford to eat
With a helping hand, we might get back on our feet—
Without work a bad way just keeps getting worse

This worst hard time, it’s a crushing burden
From sea to sea every working person’s hurting
But the Government Man, he says relief is still uncertain
It’s a slam dunk we need a helping hand
On account of all the suffering in this hard land
Tell me how the hell can anybody not understand
Without work a bad way just keeps getting worse

Were In A Bad Way

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project to write 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image & caption: Circleville, Ohio's "Hooverville" (see general caption). Begins to talk: "No man in the United States had the trouble I had since 1931. No man. Don't talk to me. I'm deaf. I lost my farm in 1931. I went to work in an acid factory. I got acid spilt on me; burnt my nose and made me blind. Then I get those awful headaches. I've been to lots of doctors, but that doesn't help me. They come on at sundown. No man in the United States had the trouble I had since 1931." (This last repeated many times through his talking.) "No man. It must be getting on to 6 o'clock now. My head's beginning to pain.", Farm Security Administration - Office of War Information Photograph Collection (Library of Congress), LC-USF33-006628-M3 

Lyrics:
The Good Lord gives and takes away—for me it’s mostly number two
At the end of every livelong day, I don’t know what I’m gonna do
“Double trouble” understates, I'm sure I've  triple my fair share
Of too much trouble--way  too much trouble 
Of too much trouble for one poor man to bear
I planted sorghum, corn, and wheat—but trouble that’s what grows
I doubt I’ve but one more  week ‘til they come calling to foreclose
 I told my tale of woe to the banker man, but the banker man don’t care
That I got too much trouble--way too much trouble
I got too much trouble for one poor man to bear
It beggars a godly man’s belief, the trouble heaped on me
See I prayed I might get some relief from Farm Security
But I pled my case to the government man,  hell ain’t no help forthcoming there
I’m stuck with too too much trouble--way too much trouble
I’m stuck with too much trouble for one poor man to bear
If you had half my burden on my back, you’d agree I swear
That it's too much trouble--way too much trouble
It's too much trouble for one poor man to bear

Too Much Trouble

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project to write 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image and caption: Bankers' Association opposes federal insured loans as hazard to established businesses. Washington, D.C., June 15. Robert M. Hanes, 1st Vice President of the American Bankers' Association, and brother of Treasury Undersecretary John W. Hanes, today told the Senate Banking and Currency Committee that the Association opposed the proposed bill to authorize the RFC to insure up to 90 percent on loans to small businesses. He said that it would be a hazard to already established enterprises. He denied that bankers are 'sitting idly by waiting for the borrowers to seek credit', Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, Harris & Ewing photograph collection

Lyrics:

I saw the sin of pride out promenading
Down avenues paved over with gold
From the spoils of speculation
Turning everything of worth on Heaven and Earth
Into something to be bought and sold
It’s a crying shame, sir, the state we’re in
Where the poor man pays, lord, lord, for the rich man’s sin
I heard the sin of greed expostulating
That the rich man’s trove is his needful share
And how that squares with the cries of a hungry child
Greed don’t care
It’s a crying shame, sir, the state we’re in
Where the poor man pays, lord, lord, for the rich man’s sin
The rich man sins but the pay man pays
It’s the poor man foots the bill
When the bill comes due, sir, when the bill comes due
We’ll settle up the score, when the bill comes due
When the bill comes due, sir, when the bill comes due
No hungry children anymore, when the bill comes due

The Poor Man Foots The Bill

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project to write 101 original Americana songs inspired by photographs from the Great Depression. More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image and caption: Native Texas tenant farmer. Near Goodliet, Texas. Aged seventy; seventeen years on the same farm. Is to be "tractored out" at the end of 1938. One son has been tractored out and has been on WPA (Work Projects Administration) for two years. Another son was tractored out in 1937. Has moved to town and remains temporarily off relief by selling his livestock. "What are my boys going to do? It's not a question of what they're going to do. It's a question of what they're going to have to do. They're not any up there in Congress but what are big landowners and they're going to see that the program is in their interest. As long as the government is paying the landowner more to let the land out than they make by renting it, they won't rent it.",  Farm Security Administration - Office of War Information Photograph Collection (Library of Congress), LC-USF34- 018175-E

Lyrics:
Well they tractored us out, with no ceremony
Leaving us on our own with little to show
For 20 long years of counting each penny—
Just the second part’s true, sir, of “easy come, easy go”
My daddy worked hard—but then he died early
Of the fruits of his labor, he enjoyed next to none
Now with each passing day, my I’m growing more weary
We’ll see if it’s destined: “like father, like son”
“For better or worse,” we vowed our wedding day--
To weather together storms tomorrow might bring
She ain’t said one unkind word—and she’s no mind to stray--
But that  look in her eyes, sir—by god does it sting
What luck I had once has been blowed away—
Baked into dust by a merciless sun
What the good lord may give, he might then take away:
I was born to a poor man, I guess I’ll leave this world one

Tractored Out

Live recording A Poor Man's Lot (Gets Harder Every Day), part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project to create 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image and caption: Negro plowing corn. He is a tenant; raises mainly tobacco; has lived here for four years. The cornfield is grassy and poor. On dirt road from Highway 144. Person County, North Carolina. He is saying "You ain't looking for money, is you?" Person County, North Carolina, Farm Security Administration - Office of War Information Photograph Collection (Library of Congress), LC-USF34- 019921-E

Lyrics:

Just when you think you’ll get ahead
The worst bad luck will stop you dead
And leave you deeper in hock than you started instead-- 
The way a poor man’s lot gets harder every day

Just when you’re sure you can’t take no more--
‘Cause  you’ve got trouble in spades, and debt galore 
Here comes a bankerman knocking on your front door--
‘Cause  a poor man’s lot gets harder every day

	When you’re most in need of catching a break
	You’re leastest likely to get a fair shake
	It’s enough to keep a poor man lying awake---

‘Cause just when you mostest need a hand
You’ll find there ain’t much kindness in this land
It’s a sad fact but easy to understand 
Why a poor man’s lot gets harder every day

So I wish you the bestest luck my friend
‘Cause til these hardest hard times end
It’s a fat chance our fortune’s will be on the mend--
‘Cause  a poor man’s gets harder every day

A Poor Mans Lot Live

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project to write 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image & caption: Christmas dinner in home of Earl Pauley. Near Smithfield, Iowa. Dinner consisted of potatoes, cabbage and pie, Farm Security Administration - Office of War Information Photograph Collection (Library of Congress)

Lyrics:
I know you made a list
And I swear it ain’t been missed
By the jolly old elf in red
But with time’s being so tough
Instead of “getting lots of stuff”
It’s the “Year of Something Else” instead

The world’s good girls and boys
Deserve a mighty haul of toys
But shoes and socks and meals come first
So St. Nick’s double-checking lists
To make sure ain’t nobody’s missed
Among the families who are hurting worst

It’s the hardest kind of year
To feel Yuletide cheer
When lines are stretching ‘round the block for bread
But if we can find it in our heart
To pony up and do our part
We’ll do the “Year of Something Else” instead

‘Cause there’s lots of girls and boys
Whose folks can’t afford no toys
Nor even rent come New Year’s Day
We need Santa with his sack
And his reindeer in a pack
To come and carry all their debts away

So may our stockings hung with care
Remind us here, there, everywhere
So many hopes are hanging by a thread--
And that the least that we can do
To see these hard times through
Is the “Year of Something Else” instead

The Year Of Something Else Instead Live

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project to write 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image and caption: Japanese mother and daughter, agricultural workers near Guadalupe, California, Farm Security Administration - Office of War Information Photograph Collection (Library of Congress)

Lyrics:
Mothers and daughters, fathers and sons
Hold on to hopes--stick to your guns
‘Cause there’s a whole lot of trouble, up and down this hard land
And it’s been with us way longer, than anyone’s planned
But if you’re searching in earnest for how to cause better days
To pull us one and all through this--in all possible ways
If you look in your heart, I swear there you will find
One obvious answer: when in doubt be kind

Mothers And Daughters

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project to write 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image:  Drought-stricken farmer and family near Muskogee, Oklahoma. Agricultural day laborer. Muskogee County U.S. Farm Security Administration/Office of War Information LC-USF34-016107-C

Lyrics:

I wish there was a star baby, that we could hitch our wagon to

Or we could a find a well out there just waiting for the penny

That’s gonna make our dreams come true

‘Cause it’s been a long time coming lately--a little luck for me and you

So I ain’t providing for our baby, nor nearly giving you your due

Fact is there’s no jobs on offer, and I ain’t a beggar or a thief

I fear it’s time we contemplate dear: I disappear, you go on relief


If wishes were horses we’d be riding into the lives we’d hoped to lead

But sometimes you can’t get what you wanted--or even the half of what you need




I wish there was a job ready, for every pair of idled hands

That before these hard times built the factories, laid the rails and farmed these lands

‘Cause if working was a right, darling, I’d throw my all at any task

A fair day’s pay for a hard day’s work, now—that don’t seem so much to ask

But what with “liquidation” as the watchword among the mighty and the few

I fear that wishful thinking is all that’s left for me and you



If there was justice I’d be working--and a honest wage would see us through

But now without some rare good fortune, I just don’t know what we can do

Wishes

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project to create 101 original American songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image:  One dead, fifteen wounded in strike clash. One man was killed and at least fifteen were wounded in an attack by 200 deputies on a crowd of pickets at the Spang-Chalfant Seamless Tube Company plant. This is the first fatality since the strike disorders in the coal districts near Pittsburgh. Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, LC-USZ62-26197

Lyrics:
You’d think passionate hearts, and skilled, willing hands
Would play some small part in the bosses’ grand plans
But the Fat Cats back East want to shut this plant down
Takin’ jobs down South, to some non-union town
Or over the border, down Mexico -way—
Where desperation’s making workers beg for pennies a day
‘Cause their ’s banner is the dollar, and their battle cry is “More!”
And they’ve been doing all the shooting in this haves-on-have-nots war

The bosses won’t stop pushing till your back’s against the wall
And the bosses won’t stop taking, until they’ve took it all
They’ll take from you by law, and they’ll take from you by theft
They’ll take what you’ve got coming, and they’ll take what you have left—
It’s getting to the point a man can’t care for a family anymore
From losing of battle after battle in this haves-on-have-nots war

All the politicians counsel “turn the other cheek”
Singing praises for the worker while they sell him up the creek
What they call “negotiation” means “they take and you give back”
“Just look, son, to the brighter side of getting ‘squat’ or ‘jack'”
It’s hard to play the hand you’re dealt when every deck is stacked
And the bosses’ plan ain’t compromise, it’s “attack, attack, attack”
It’s 99-to-one or worse if you’ve been keeping score
Advantage to the rich man, in this haves-on-have-nots war

The bosses won’t be happy till we’re scared to take a stand
And ain’t no unions left unbroken up and down this whole hard land
They’ll do it by dividing us and breaking locals one by one
With contracts, crooked cronies—or the policeman’s gun—
It’s getting to the point my friend where a man can’t hardly live
In this war on working people mister something’s got to give

Ninety-nine to One

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project to create 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image and caption: [Untitled photo, possibly related to: Tulare County, California. Farm Security Administration (FSA) camp for migratory agricultural workers at Farmersville. Nurse of Agricultural Workers' Health and Medical Association (FSA) is assigned to the camp. Photo shows her attending sick baby, Farm Security Administration - Office of War Information Photograph Collection (Library of Congress, LC-USF34- 019658-D

Lyrics:

How’s a man to find hope?
How’s a man to find hope?
How’s a man to find some strength and peace of mind and hope  in this hard time?

When it seems like battle lines are drawn
Feels like our better days are long, long gone
And the price of keepin’ keepin’ on
Feels steeper every day

How’s a woman to find hope?
How’s a woman to find hope?
How’s a woman to find some strength and peace of mind and hope  in this hard time?

When it seems like kindness ain’t in style
Feels like we’re lost by a country mile
And the leastest cause to crack a smile
Feels scarcer every day

How’s a child to find hope?
How’s a child to find hope?
How’s a child to find some strength and peace of mind and hope  in this hard time?

Sons and daughters, here’s the score: we’ve lived through times like these before
When famine, pestilence, or war brought out the worst of those in power
And grifters, sycophants, and liars—toady peddlers of despair 
Disguise the failure at the top by slandering the strength to care

	Look past the lies to find hope
	Look toward the kind to find hope
	Open your heart to share hope in this hard time

Hope In This Hard Time

Part of Hard Times Hundred and One, my project to write 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image and caption: New York, New York. Midnight mass on Christmas Eve at Saint Dominick's church in an Italian-American neighborhood. Farm Security Administration - Office of War Information photograph collection (Library of Congress) LC-USW3- 013032-E

Lyrics:

God rest ye jobless gentlemen, ‘cause Christmas cheer is free
Don’t be dismayed there won’t be work another month or three
Since Mr. Hoover’s gift this year is more austerity--
Some tidings, sir, they just don’t bring no joy

From shiverin’ in a manger to nailed to a tree
Jesus was a poor man who knew adversity
So I’ll wish him happy birthday with heartfelt sympathy
Some tidings, sir, they just don’t bring no joy

So ring the bells and deck the halls—hang the holly high
But if you please, you’ll pardon me
If I’m slow to joll-i-fy

Now steering clear of Satan’s power’s wise any time of year
But it’s the strength of Mammon’s grip that’s crushed our Christmas cheer
And it’s “work for every idled man” to which all our hopes adhere 
Those tidings sir, would bring comfort and joy

God Rest Ye Jobless Gentlemen

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project to write 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image and caption:  Waiting for the semimonthly relief checks at Calipatria, Imperial Valley, California. Typical story: fifteen years ago they owned farms in Oklahoma. Lost them through foreclosure when cotton prices fell after the war. Became tenants and sharecroppers. With the drought and dust they came West, 1934-1937. Never before left the county where they were born. Now although in California over a year they haven't been continuously resident in any single county long enough to become a legal resident. Reason: migratory agricultural laborers,  Farm Security Administration - Office of War Information Photograph Collection (Library of Congress)

Lyrics:

Some hard knocks’ll teach you lots of things you ain’t never learnt in school--
Like when you’re certain you’re the wiser man you just might be The Greater Fool
I went rags to riches, then right back, on account of wanting “more”--
I traded all the “finer things” for a shot at one big score 
 
Silver in the cupboard, carpet in the hall—
I made a whole lot of money, but then I lost it all

When you’re flush the bankers beg to be the next to lend to you
But don’t expect no kindness when they call that credit due
And when you’ve cash to burn your congressman cares what you’ve got to say
But when your fortunes take a turn– you won’t get the time of day

I had ten bankers and the governor at my beck and call—
I made a whole lot of money, but then I lost it all

It’s printed on the dollar, bold as brass “In God We Trust”
But if you’re banking on a “boom” sir He just might send you a bust
If you think you’re in good graces with the man upstairs
You just might mistake some dumb luck for a sign he really cares

I should have seen it coming, pride went before my fall—
I made a whole lot of money, but then (just like that) I lost it all

A Whole Lot Of Money Live

Image:  Farm Debt Adjustment Committee meeting with farmer who has appealed for assistance. He has been threatened with foreclosure and loss of farm. Ozark Mountain town of Harrison, Arkansas, 1939

Lyrics:

When the rain won't fall sir
What's a man to do
When the rain won't fall sir
What's a man to do
Well I prayed to the Lord sir
But I he gave no answer
When the rain won't fall
What's a man to do?

When the banker comes knockin'
What's a man to do?
When the banker comes knockin'
What's a man to do?
Well I wrote me the president
But he sent no help
When the banker comes knockin'
What's a man to do?

When the boss ain't hirin'
What's a man to do?
When the boss ain't hirin'
What's a man to do?
Well I turned to the whiskey
But the shame still burned
When the boss ain't hirin'
What's a man to do?

When your child is hungry
What's a man to do?
When your child is hungry
What's a man to do?
See I marched downtown sir
But they took me to the jail
When your child is hungry
What's a man to do

'Cause when there ain't no work sir
How's a man to live?
When there ain't no work sir
How's a man to live?
When I wake in the morning
I feel I must surely die
When there ain't no work sir
How's a man to live?

Whats a Man to Do?

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project create 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image
Company store, Saturday afternoon. At left, miners shooting craps; at right, card gambling, favorite pastime. Chaplin, West Virginia, U.S. Farm Security Administration/Office of War Information Black & White Photographs LC-USF33- 030185-M3

Lyrics
Every Monday morning I’m short money for the week
Every Monday morning I’m short money for the week
I’ll likely end my Wednesday well and truly up the creek
‘Cause it’s another Monday morning I’m short money for the week
I’ve had lots of empty pockets but not a lot of luck
I could share six ways from Sunday for stretching every buck
When it comes to making frayed ends meet I know well of what I speak—
As a poor man, I’m short money for the week
As a poor man, I’m short money for the week
It’s rough when nothing’s in your wallet if you’re a family man
Though you’ve notched your belt and buckled down and done the best you can
I’d like to get the wife and kids a treat but things are looking bleak
As a father, I’m short money for the week
As a father, I’m short money for the week
I’m not looking forward to Friday ‘cause I’m not sure what I’ll do
When the bookie comes-a-calling about my seventh IOU
See I’ve landed on the wrong side of another losing streak—
As a gambler, I’m short money for the week 
As a gambler, I’m short money for the week	
When I lay me down on Sunday I’ve already got a peek
Of waking on the morrow short of money for the week

Money For The Week

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression More at http://hardtimes100and1.com

Lyrics:

Tell me now brother, "How'd it go down--
Your homesteading in a western town"

God help me it ain't gone right
Dust clouds boiled up as black as night

And a man can't reap if a man can't sow
Oh how I wish we never did go

I lost my tractor and I lost my cow
But I don't give a damn about them now

Lost a whole lotta money but I don't care
'Cause I left our little baby there

There's a whole lotta trouble Oklahoma way
And dust piling up on a little girl's grave

A Whole Lot of Trouble (live)

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at http://hardtimes100and1.com

Image : Tip Estes, forty-three year old hired man, on his farm near Fowler, Indiana 1937

Lyrics:

You might find me mending a fence line
So the springtime lambs can’t stray
Believe you me, I’d take it personally
If even one got away
Or working double time pulling potatoes
So they ain't taken  by a frost or rot
‘Cause I’ll roll up my sleeves
And crawl on hands and knees
To care for each and every crop
	Some folks might envy the bankerman
	For raking in all the scratch he can 	
        Me I'm OK with an honest man's wage as a farmer's hired hand
Now when work gets slow I know it’s time to go
North or south or west or east
And if crops are thin where I’m wandering
I’ll get a change of scene at least
You can’t ever know how a harvest will go
But the rhythms of the seasons remain
Roaming coast to coast to where I’m wanted most
To me that’s right as rain
	You might be a senator
	With a run at the president planned
	For me it's no disgrace to hold down my place as a farmer’s hired hand
When each turn of the season
Gives me a reason
To tackle the next needful task
Tilling or sowing or to reap what we're growing
Whatever it is I'm asked
No the work never ends
But listen my friend and I'll tell you sir what never gets old
Earning a fair day's pay working the live long day
Turning brown fields green and gold
See for some folks the be-all-end-all
Is a home where they put down roots
Me I’ll make my place anywhere there’s space
For my hat and my working boots
Everyone admires the movie stars
	Known up and down this whole hard land
	For me it ain’t no shame to bear the unknown name of a farmer’s hired hand

The Farmer's Hired Hand

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image: Loafers' wall, at courthouse, Batesville, Arkansas. Here from sun up until well into the night these fellows, young and old, "set". Once a few years ago a political situation was created when an attempt was made to remove the wall. It stays. When asked what they do there all day, one old fellow replied: "W-all we all just a 'set'; sometimes a few of 'em get up and move about to 'tother side when the sun gets too strong, the rest just 'sets'."   Farm Security Administration - Office of War Information Photograph Collection (Library of Congress) LC-USF33- 000597-M3 

Lyrics:

From sunup until sundown you men perch here just like crows
Seems this loafer’s wall’s the place to come, and nobody ever goes
But I can’t see the reason nor fathom any rhyme
Why all you men would set up here settin’ all the time
Beg you pardon mister, maybe you’re new in town
Maybe you ain’t heard that all the mills have been shut down 

That’s a simple explanation for what we’ve been about:
We ain’t doing nothing sir but doing without

From sunup until sundown we’ve got nowhere else to be
Thanks to liquidation and our redundancy
Ain’t no one wants our labor, ain’t no honest work around
And settin’ on this wall sir, beats settin’ on the ground

It’s gets so damn frustrating it makes me want to shout:
There ain’t nothing doing here but doing without

Go ask your Mr. Hoover if he’d like some honest men
To put their shoulders to the wheels and looms and lathes again
But he can’t have his hard money and jobs for workers too
Until he prefers the latter, sir, we’ve nothing else to do

Come back around tomorrow, and you’ll find without a doubt:
We won’t be doing nothing sir but doing without 


Doing Without

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, 101 songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image: Conversion. Toy factory. Stephanie Cewe and Ann Manemeit, have turned their skill from peacetime production of toy trains to the assembly of parachute flare casings for the armies of democracy. Along with other workers in this Eastern plant, they have turned their skill to the vital needs of the day, and in many cases have seen to it that the machinery they used to use does Uncle Sam’s most important work today. Here, they are assembling parachute flare casings, using the same electric screwdrivers they formerly used to assemble the locomotives of toy trains. A. C. Gilbert Company, New Haven, Connecticut United States. Office of War Information. Overseas Picture Division. Washington Division; 1944. LC-DIG-fsa-8e10865

Lyrics:
Unemployment lines in ’29 stretched from sea to shining sea
‘Round here they shuttered the five and dime downtown
And mothballed the toy factory
“No work today” became the name of the game
For an army of idled men
Cooling their heels and clinging to hope
While one year turned into ten
And when the bad news couldn’t get much worse
On account of our economy
We got the word that bullets and bombs were flying
In the Old Country
Now there’s rumors of a draft afoot for our fathers and our sons
And you know if there’s gonna be trouble they’re gonna need guns
So they’re clearing years of dust away on that factory floor
But please: could we put people to work without going to war?
The bombs fell on Pearl Harbor so now our die is cast
And it’s anybody’s guess how long the fighting’s gonna last
So the hiring lines are open to the jobless and the poor
But please: can we put people to work without going to war?
From Montecassino to Guadalcanal godspeed to our boys
And to their sisters putting tanks together with tools that once made toys
Now there’s overtime on offer and prosperity in store
But please: could we keep people working without waging war?

Hard Times Hundred & One

Work Without War

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, 101 original Americana songs based on photos from the Great Depression. More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image and caption: Family group, workman and his family. Corpus Christi, Texas  Office of War Information Photograph Collection (Library of Congress) LC-USF34- 038268-D

Lyrics:
 Daddy said “Be sure you shine your shoes, son—
 That’s the first thing that he’ll look at
 A hiring man is quick to pass you over
 If you give him an excuse”
  
 Momma said “Be sure you say your prayers, child—
 Though it seems like no one’s listening
 Letting your Maker knows you’re thankful
 Is the stand-up thing to do”
  
 There’s a fear that you can smell, sir
 When there’s way more love than money
 And your folks are talking softly
 ‘Cause they don’t want you to hear
  
 You can hardly catch each third word
 Though you hold your breath to listen
 But you can tell they’re up against it,
 That signal’s crystal clear
  
 It may be that the rent’s due
 And the overtime ain’t come through
 Or there’s furloughs at the factory
 And something’s got to give
  
 That’s the moment that it hits you
 Though you’re barely out of diapers:
 The hand that you’ve been dealt sir,
 Is “man must work to live”
 The hand that you’ve been dealt, sir
 Is “a man must work to live”

Man Must Work to Live

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression; more at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image: Strike pickets, New York, 1937

Lyrics:
 
Strike pickets, New York, New York 1937

 Lyrics:

There’s trouble ‘round the corner,
There’s trouble down the street—
And you probably ain’t still breathing
If you ain’t feeling the heat
So notify your neighbors
Be they Molly, Moe, or Mike—
They’re busing in the Pinkertons
To break the Local’s strike

They say the Reds are getting violent
And it’s time for it to stop—
But the “Commie with a gun”
Was an undercover cop
So help us get the word 
To every Sally, Sam , and Sue—
They say the workers started trouble
But we know it isn’t true

We know there’s trouble round the corner
‘Cause the governor’s in the tank
For the foremen at the factory
And the fat cats at the bank
So make yourself a picket
Every Johnny, Jane, and Jack
‘Cause we ain’t got guns or money--
But we’ll have each others’ back

Trouble Round the Corner

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, 101 original Americana songs inspired  by photos from the Great Depression; more at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image: Image: White sharecropper couple near Hartwell, Georgia Farm Security Administration/Office of War Information Black and White Negatives, U.S. Library of Congress LC-USF34- 018096-C

Lyrics:

I pulled my ring from a calloused hand sir
Went and pawned it for our daily bread
We took our vows with dreams of for richer
But we must make do with for poorer instead
That July sun on my naked finger
Burnt near bad enough to kill a man
Walking dusty roads home 
To where my wife is waiting
When I’d paid the bills  
With our wedding band
Courting at the county fair and revival hall dances
We’d whispered dreams of our wedded bliss
Summer ’29’s been past imagining--
We’d never feared in a hundred years 
Things would come to this
Summer ’29 dried up our chances
Blew them away like ashes and dust
Till death do us part—that ain’t in question
Here’s hoping for better
For worse if we must

For Worse if We Must

Love in a Time of Want EP is part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project to write 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/.

The title track was inspired by a photograph by Dorothea Lange (Image & caption:  Migrant agricultural worker’s family. Seven hungry children. Mother aged thirty-two. Father is a native Californian. Destitute in pea picker’s camp, Nipomo, California, because of the failure of the early pea crop. These people had just sold their tent in order to buy food. Of the twenty-five hundred people in this camp most of them were destitute, Farm Security Administration/Office of War Information Black and White Negatives, U.S. Library of Congress)

Track List:
Love in a Time of Want
A Little Love, a Little Mercy
Better Days
No Child Hungry, and No Man Idle Too
Love to Spare

Love In A Time Of Want EP

Man Must Work to Live EP is part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project to write 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at hardtimes100and1.com/.

Track list:
1. Man Must Work to Live
2. What are Working Folks to Do?
3. Hope in Hard Times
4. The Devil Lies Waiting for the Idle
5. Cross of Gold

Man Must Work To Live EP

A Whole Lot of Trouble EP  is part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project to write 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at hardtimes100and1.com/.

The image that inspired the title track prompted me to wonder "how much sadness could be jammed in to the shortest length of song?"

Track list:
1. A Whole Lot of Trouble
2. The Hardest Hard Time
3. Summer '29
4. Down to Our Last Dollar
5. Nothing Good's Been Done

A Whole Lot Of Trouble EP

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project to write 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image and caption:  Arriving at Ellis Island, George Grantham Bain Collection (Library of Congress)

Lyrics:
With what little he had my great granddad bet big on a new country
When he stepped on a ship from a stone staircase in Southern Italy
To first set foot on what he hoped would be his family’s new homeland
Fresh off the boat at Ellis with nothing but his hat in hand
	Like the hopeful and the hard done by
	Of a hundred nationalities
	He came from overseas
She couldn’t tell all would be well when grandma got the hell out of Eastern Germany
Running ahead of a tide turning read toward the Land of Liberty
She never made much working factory and field, but she didn’t cross the pond for greed
She wanted American dreams for my generation, her labor nurtured the seed
	If you’re like me there’s foreign soil
	On the roots of our family trees
	Transplanted from overseas
We’re the nation we are ‘cause we opened the door to the tired the hungry the wretched and poor
The world’s huddled masses taking their chances to do right by their families 
	By fours and fives and sixes
	And in ones and twos and threes
	They came from overseas
Some would say things are different today, so when the ragged come knocking we should turn them away—
As much now as then you couldn’t be wronger to betray what’s always made America stronger
So many hands and hearts and minds
That built our prosperity
Came from overseas

Overseas

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project to write 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at hardtimes100and1.com/

Image & caption: On board the fishing boat Alden, out of Gloucester, Massachusetts. After the seining net is pulled in with its catch, the mother boat pulls alongside, and the skipper and the cook help lash the big net to its railing. Here a large dip net scoops the fish from the nets to the decks (https://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/2017856575/)

Lyrics:
When you’re pushing late into the season
And hard weather rolls around
You’re prayin’ for the mercy of Mary and Jesus
But you’d settle for some solid ground

When you’re making best speed to Gloucester
But you’ve still got forever to go
And you’re hoping the skipper knows the boat like a lover
So he can rock when she wants to roll

‘Cause out a little later and deeper
Meant hauling a little more in
It seemed like a fine idea sir
When the pickings started getting thin

But you’ll forgive my second thoughts now
As I make my peace with God
That my wife may be waiting on the Widow’s Walk
For the sake of a few damn cod

	Now some folks toil in a factory
And others till the soil
Still others work beneath the earth
Mining for coal and oil
And some folks go down and don’t come up cause of a tunnel caving in
And others go trawling on the Flemish Cap and never come back again

Seems even the bounty of nature
Can’t last when it’s bonded and bought
Whether forests plowed under for profit
Or seas where the cod’s all been caught

Now the industry’s geed won’t be sated 
Till all the fish are dead
But ain’t it worse if what comes first
Is using up the fishermen instead?

Now some folks toil in a factory
And others till the soil
Still others work beneath the earth
Mining for coal and oil
And some folks go down and don’t come up cause of a tunnel caving in
And others go trawling on the Flemish Cap and never come back again

Bonded and Bought

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project to write 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image & caption: Detroit, Michigan. A Venetian night party at the Detroit yacht club, whose members represent the wealthier class of manufacturers and their friends. Commodore and girls drinking.  Farm Security Administration - Office of War Information photograph collection (Library of Congress) LC-DIG-fsa-8d25285

Lyrics:
I ain’t gor money—but I got wise
To why the rich man’s keen to pull the wool over the poor man’s eyes
‘Cause I’ve been watching how a fortune’s made--
I’ve seen stacked decks and loaded dice everywhere that game is played
And sweetheart dealin,’ nudge-nudge,  wink-wink--
Fine follows raising glasses to pretending their shit don’t stink…
And I’ve seen you walking with your nose in the air
Like it was a long shot you could even see me from way up there
I seen you’ve bought diamonds with your boyfriends’ dough
That you wave around drinking Dom Perignon at the kind of parties where I don’t go
How you’ve been flaunting what you’re wearing everywhere
Laughing at the hoi polloi when they stop and stare
Maybe that’s entertainment, to your “Social Set Sort”
Who like running ‘round playing at life like it’s a spectator sport
But if you get bored with poseurs and pretense
You might find you’d like running with me on my side of the fence
True I don’t count for squat in dollars and sense
I ain’t Silver Spoon upper-crust Ivy League spare no expense
Fact is I ain’t no one—exceptin’ my own man
Not some trumped-up stuffed shirt wanna-be also ran
‘Cause I ain’t trying to be more than I am
So when you want a different kind of deal, come down and see me ma’am

I Aint Got Money But I Got Wise

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project to write 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image: Title: Reverend Bullard, preacher, and family with trailer home. Alexandria, Louisiana, Farm Security Administration - Office of War Information Photograph Collection (Library of Congress), LC-USF34- 056656-D

Lyrics:

They started rolling Sunday and they ain’t slowed down—
A spiritual revival wagon roamin’ town to town
‘Cause there’s a fearsome need in this hard time for words of hope to spread,
Makin’ joyful noise together, and breakin’ daily bread
So if you’re hankerin’ to testify and echo each “Amen”
Come gather on the riverside and bring yourself a friend
Or if you ain’t so much a praying man, come down to lend an ear
So long as Satan ain’t a pal o’ yours, you’ll find you’re welcome here

The preacher brought a podium and a big hand-lettered sign
And we’ll pray for loaves that multiply and water into wine
We’re sheltered by the canopy of big old shady trees
And the Good Lord’s set some heather here to cushion tired knees
First up, the Good Samaritan, then turn the other cheek
Be thou thy brother’s keeper, and blessed are the meek

The summer sun was setting as the congregation thinned
So he gave the benediction after a last concluding hymn
“Peace be with you, go with God, may faith lighten your load—
I hope to this way again, it’s time I hit the road--
 See the lesson of Gethsemane is accepting fate with grace
And as a preacher here in this hard land, that’s traveling place to place”

The Lesson Of Gethsemane

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project to write 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at hardtimes100and1.com/

Image: Going to back door to ask for handout, Omaha, Nebraska, Farm Security Administration - Office of War Information Photograph Collection (Library of Congress), LC-USF33-T01-001298-M1

Lyrics:

In ’32 with the farm foreclosed, we gave city life a try
My folks, they’d never seen times so lean, but it seemed we were gettin’ by
Momma took in some sewing, daddy worked dawn to dusk seven straight—
Scratching up rent on our one-room apartment and putting just enough food on the plate

After school I’d run the streets, ‘cause ‘stickball and dicin’ were free
The one day down the steps to a big fancy house here’s Daddy walking toward me
I asked if he was odd jobbin’, or delivering for a store-- 
And he said “No I ain’t found a day’s worth of honest work—been tin cupping door-to-door
It’d be best if this was our secret, son, I hope you understand”—
I crossed my heart, then he shook his cup, and dropped two dimes in my habd

Momma was never the wiser, I kept my lips sealed tight
But Dad spoke less as the weeks wore on and started settin’ up all night
It wasn’t long ‘til he passed on, I wasn’t surprised he died--
See Daddy had a back that was strong as a Brahmin ox--but that day something broke inside 
He told me “son, take care of your momma, have faith, keep your chin up”--
I can still hear the coins jingling in daddy’s old tin cup

Now it’s one year on since Dad’s been gone, I have my worse and my better days
Skipping school to do what I’ve got to do, in the streets where I once played
I find a place to stand, tin cup in hand, smile and swallow my grief--
So I can supplement the income of a widow on relief
Imagine having hope you’d muddle through, then bad luck interrupts--
If you sympathize I hope you’ll spare a dime for Daddy’s old tin cup

Copyright 2020 by Bryan Kirschner

Daddys Old Tin Cup

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project to write 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at https://hardtimes100and1.com/

Image and caption: [Untitled photo, possibly related to: Negroes in the lineup for food at mealtime in the camp for flood refugees, Forrest City, Arkansas], Farm Security Administration - Office of War Information Photograph Collection (Library of Congress)

Lyrics:
We’ve a mighty heap of trouble, and for certain there’s more brewing
It ain’t dripping by ounces, it’s dropping by the ton-- 
We could be doing much better than we’ve been doing
We could be done a lot kinder than we’ve been done

Say hello to “Rack” and his best-est buddy “Ruin”
They’re here to do their worst, neither wants to be outdone--
We could be doing much better than we’ve been doing
We could be done a lot kinder than we’ve been done

When you wake up in the morning you just might hang your head and cry
‘Cause the price of being poor sir is being hard-done by

We’ve been down so long we can’t win for losing
‘See uncharity to poor folks ain’t new beneath the sun--
We could be doing much better than we’ve been doing
We could be done a lot kinder than we’ve been done

We Could Be Doing Much Better

Image: Image  Bowery men waiting for bread in bread line, [New York City] George Grantham Bain Collection, U.S. Library of Congress, LC-USZ62-63966.

More at www.bryankirschner.com

Lyrics:

When things went bad back in twenty nine 
I would started my days on the hiring line
‘Till the man said stand for relief instead
I got a cup of cold coffee and a stale loaf of bread
Pride stuck in my gullet, eyes square on the floor 
I said “with kids at home sir—could I have a little more?”
You’ll find me broke up, beat down, threadbare and poor
Shuffling along killing time
In the weeks months and years since they shut down that hiring line

Your almighty dollar says “in god we trust”
Tell where was he sir when the banks went bust?
And big backroom bailouts left us in the lurch—
You know that way back when they threw the bankers out of church
But now the fix is in and nobody cares
About their big corner offices and big leather chairs
That they made out like bandits and they’re still sitting there
While we’re scratching for nickels and dimes
In the weeks months and years since they shut down those hiring lines

	Fear will hollow you out from the inside my friend
	When you’re scared as hell they’ll never come round hiring again
	We’re just heart broke and desperate shadows of men
	Doing what we can to survive
	In the weeks months and years since they shut down the hiring line

‘Cause I did fifteen years on the factory floor
And if I had my way sir I’d a done fifty more
Back when they turned us out I odd-jobbed for a spell
For a while had me Mr. Sickler’s apples to sell
But in nineteen hundred and thirty two
There are too many men chasing not enough to do--
Now I end my nights in a Hooverville
And if he ain’t gonna help us tell me who the hell will?
Where’s a man to find hope in these hard times
In the weeks months and years since they shut down those hiring lines


How's a Man to Find Hope in These Hard Times?

Part of Hard Times Hundred & One, my project to write 101 original Americana songs inspired by photos from the Great Depression. More at hardtimes100and1.com/

Image and caption:  Since becoming rehabilitation clients the value of the Dixon family's possessions has risen from 500 dollars to 1500 dollars. Saint Charles County, Missouri.  Farm Security Administration - Office of War Information Photograph Collection (Library of Congress), LC-USF34- 029143-D

Lyrics:
It’s hard to stretch a working wage, but it’s a worthy fight
To have the sum of what you woke up with when you shut out the light
‘Cause there ain’t no disputing: when the live long day is done--
A dollar in your pocket is better than none
A dollar in your pocket is better than none
Don’t be ashamed of  despite pickin’s bein’ lean 
But virtue will reward you if you’re careful with your green
If you exercise discretion when you’re hankering for fun--
You’ll find two dollars in your pocket are better than one
Two dollars in your pocket are better than one
The righteous do their level best to avoid the sin of greed
But prudence amply justifies more than the least you need 
So let’s hear “amen” and “hallelu” if you believe it’s true--
Three dollars in your pocket are better than two
Three dollars in your pocket are better than two
Now this town is full of desperate folks, ‘tin cupping door to door
Be generous if your pocket’s full of four dollars or more…
‘Cause in the thick of this hard time, it’s plain as day my friend—
With five dollars in your pocket, you’ve at least a buck to lend
With five dollars in your pocket, you’ve at least a buck to lend

A Dollar In Your Pocket

Hard Times Hundred & One is my current project. The goal:  to create 101 original Americana songs based on photos from the Great Depression.

Bryan Kirschner

Pinned to spotlight

Popular tracks