| On one side was Albany Avenue
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| On the other side a rushing creek
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| Laid in Flemish bond
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| Three stories high, a fortress of brick
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| This was a place of employ
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| The Kinderhook Hoopskirt Works
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| But it still hurts
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| When I think of the privileged captivity
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| Of the mill girl like me
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| Kept sequestered
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| Only seen on a rope bridge
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| That hangs high over the stream
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| We are kept like galley slaves
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| While strangers decorate our father’s graves
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| A dark secret of this river, this creek
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| This stream, oh what does it mean?
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| You’ll hear no flattery at the factory
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| At the Kinderhook Hoopskirt Works
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| There comes an undertone of frantic in her stitchery
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| Idle talk do the turn to the wicked
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| Take a listen, you’ll surely see
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| Between the girls a foul ensued
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| Our heroine turns in word
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| To her collection
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| To examine her collection
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| Her collection of two hundred and twenty-five smiles
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| You’ll hear no flattery at the factory
|
| At the Kinderhook Hoopskirt Works
|
| You’ll hear no flattery at the factory
|
| At the Kinderhook Hoopskirt Works
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| Each decision we make is based on love or fear
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| Shall I be kind or cruel or fake?
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| Shall I now shed a tear?
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| You can see them up in the windows of the factory
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| Any night of the week
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| Like beautifully-gowned wax figures on display
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| With the loveliest eyes you’ve ever seen
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| Squinting to baste the flouts
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| Basting underskirts as big as wagon wheels
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| Stabbing feelings with a needle
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| Do you like how that feels?
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| You’ll hear no flattery at the factory
|
| At the Kinderhook Hoopskirt Works
|
| You’ll hear no flattery at the factory
|
| At the Kinderhook Hoopskirt Works
|
| At the Kinderhook Hoopskirt Works |