The Weave Room Blues, by Dorsey Dixon was about the dissatisfactions of the people who got forced into the textile industry with little chance of ever getting out of it. Dorsey was born into a family of factory workers, so when he was only ten years old, he became a mill worker, and musician. He was...
Working in a weave-room, fighting for my life
Trying to make a living for my kiddies and my wife;
Some are needing clothing, some are needing shoes,
But I'm getting nothing but the weave-room blues.
I've got the blues, I've got the blues,
I've got them awful weave-room blues;
I got the blues, the weave-room blues.
With your looms a-slamming, shuttles bouncing in the floor,
When you flag your fixer, you can see that he is sore;
Trying to make a living, but I'm thinking I will lose,
For I'm sent a-dying with them weave-room blues.
I've got the blues, I've got the blues,
I've got them awful weave-room blues;
I got the blues, the weave-room blues.
Harness eyes are breaking with the doubles coming through,
Devil's in your alley and he's coming after you,
Our hearts are aching, well, let's take a little booze;
For we're simply dying with them weave-room blues.
I've got the blues, got the blues,
I've got them awful weave-room blues;
I got the blues, the weave-room blues.
Slam-outs, break-outs, knot-ups by the score,
Cloth all rolled back and piled up in the floor;
The harness eyes are breaking, strings are hanging to your shoes,
We're simply dying with them weave-room blues.
I've got the blues, got the blues,
I've got them awful weave-room blues;
I got the blues, the weave-room blues.