Still working on recording this one.

Image: Migrant boy removing guitar before they leave for California. At old homestead near Muskogee, Oklahoma, U.S. Farm Security Administration/Office of War Information Black & White Photographs, LC-USF34- 033765-D

Lyrics:

Mister come take this guitar ‘cause it’s hung silent far too long
While the evils done working people demand witness with a song—
We need rhythm, rhyme and verse, anchored by a major chord
Where the idled man goes voiceless and the homeless man’s ignored
With each strum and melody, every hammer-on and bend
Its six strings will help folks sing these hard times to their end
It’s six strings are gonna help folks sing these hard times to their end

What the powerful and the privileged would rather not have said
Ten million voices ought to amplify in unison instead
Where night wraps a homeless family in the silence of despair
The steady beat of four-four time ought to reach them there
A strident tune, insistent on declaring wrong from right
Ought to sound out loud through this hard land, morning noon and night
By voices raised in tenements, on farms, in shotgun shacks
Near and far, wherever you are, a poet with his axe
Near and far, wherever you are, a poet with his axe

Mister come take this guitar ‘cause it’s needed urgently
To rally all the working people from sea to shining sea
From purple mountains’ majesty across every fruited plain
To raise their voices all together in an implacable refrain
With every note in harmony and every throat as one:
“These hard times are due for ending it’s time for justice to be done
These hard times are due for ending it’s time for justice to be done”