Jungle of the Midwest Sea - Flatfoot 56

In the year of our Lord, 1903

In the meat packing plants

Off the shore of the sea

Stood a young man at his slaughter post

A by his side

He said grind 'em up and ship 'em out

Don’t matter what’s inside

With poison bread to kill the rats

An effective tool of trade

Just grind 'em down to sausage

It’s not hard for a work day’s pay

Look busy, boy

Here come the derby coats

He knows the plan to slit our hands

So, we’re all in the same boat

Welcome to the jungle of the Midwest Sea

Welcome to the jungle of the Midwest Sea

Welcome to the jungle of the Midwest Sea

Welcome to the jungle of the Midwest Sea

Miles and miles

Of these stock yards run wild

The biggest in this country

It gives our city style

The world will never know

The shape their food is in

It’s not our fault we’re worth our salt

It’s the rest of the world’s sin

There’s no law against our action

No law against neglect

We’re doing good on business

No matter the effect

We’re the butchers of this country

We’re the workers in the mud

We’re the slaughter house advisers

We’re the bleeders of the blood

Welcome to the jungle of the Midwest Sea

Welcome to the jungle of the Midwest Sea

Welcome to the jungle of the Midwest Sea

Welcome to the jungle of the Midwest Sea

Welcome to the jungle of the Midwest Sea

Welcome to the jungle of the Midwest Sea

Welcome to the jungle of the Midwest Sea

Welcome to the jungle of the Midwest Sea

Welcome to the jungle of the Midwest Sea