It's in the evening after dark When the blackleg miner creeps to work In his moleskin pants and his dirty shirt There goes the blackleg miner
He grabs his duds and down he goes To hew the coal that lies below There's not a woman in this whole town row Who'll look at the blackleg miner
Dellaville is a terrible place Where they rub wet clay in the blackleg's face Round the heaps they run a foot race To catch the blackleg miner
And on his way to his filthy mine Across his path they stretch a line To cut the throat and break the spine Of the dirty blackleg miner
They grab his duds and his picks as well Throw him down to the pit of hell Down you go and fare thee well You dirty blackleg miner So join the union if you may Don't wait 'til your dying day because That might not be far away