Now the Judge was a crafty old chisler
With an anti-union policy
Well the Union didn't like it
So they up and called a strike at
The Mid-Continent Refinery.

Now the Judge started herding the scabs in
His finks and his gangsters were there
He started shelling out the cash
To rats and thugs and all such trash
And the Tulsa Tribune got its share.

[Chorus]
Say goodbye, say goodbye
Say goodbye to the Judge and his gang
When the workers started chasin'
The Judge he started racin'
'Cause he knew if they caught him he would hang.

So they chased him right out to the oil field
And he shouted as he climbed up the rig
"If you hang me I will haunt you!"
They said, "Sorry to disappoint you,
But we'll bury you face down and let you dig."

So the strikers cl imbed up on the crow's nest
And they captured that crafty old bird
Then they took a rope and strung him
By the neck and then they hung him
And now no more scabs does he herd.

Chorus:
Say goodbye, say goodbye
We've come to the end of our lyric
All those anti-union ginks
Had better watch their step, by jinks,
Or they too will hang from the derrick.

© 1976 by Sis Cunningham
Tune: "The Old Apple Tree in the Orchard"