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Sacco had come from the mountains of Italy, Had a wife and children three; Vanzetti sold fish on the streets of North Plymouth, Was a writer of workers's poetry. The world shook harder on the night they died Than 'twas shaken by that Great World's War; More millions did march for Sacco and Vanzetti Than did march for the great War Lords. More millions did pray, more millions they did sing, This August night in nineteen twenty-seven, When strapped there in that chair they did die. More millions saw the light, more walked into the fight, And more from shore unto shore Than ever did fight for the rich man's hire Or dress in the warrior's uniform. The peasants, the farmers, the towns, and the cities, The hills and the valley they did ring, Hindenburg, Wilson, Harding, Hoover, Coolidge Never heard this many voices sing. The zig-zag lightnings, the rumbles of the thunder, The singing of the clouds blowing by, The flood and the storm for Sacco and Vanzetti Caused the rich man o pull his hair and cry From Letras Mania