| The sweet pretty things are in bed now of course
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| The city fathers they’re trying to endorse
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| The reincarnation of Paul Revere’s horse
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| But the town has no need to be nervous.
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| The ghost of Belle Star she hands down her wits
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| To Jezebel the nun she violently knits
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| A bald wig for Jack the Ripper who sits
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| At the head of the chamber of commerce.
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| Mama’s in the fact’ry
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| She ain’t got no shoes
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| Daddy’s in the alley
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| He’s lookin' for food.
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| And I’m in the kitchen
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| With the tombstone blues.
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| The hysterical bride in the penny arcade
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| Screaming she moans, «I've just been made»
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| Then sends out for the doctor who pulls down the shade
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| Says, «My advice is to not let the boys in».
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| Now the medicine man comes and shuffles inside
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| He walks with a swagger and he says to be bride
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| «Stop all this weeping, swallow your pride
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| You will not die, it’s not poison».
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| Mama’s in the fact’ry
|
| She ain’t got no shoes
|
| Daddy’s in the alley
|
| He’s lookin' for food.
|
| And I’m in the kitchen
|
| With the tombstone blues.
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| The geometry of innocent flesh on the bone
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| Causes Galileo’s math book to get thrown
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| At Delilah who’s sitting worthlessly alone
|
| But the tears on her cheeks they’re from laughter.
|
| I wish I could give Brother Bill his great thrill
|
| I would set him in chains at the top of the hill
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| Then send out for some pillars and Cecil B. DeMille
|
| He could die happily ever after.
|
| Mama’s in the fact’ry
|
| She ain’t got no shoes
|
| Daddy’s in the alley
|
| He’s lookin' for food.
|
| And I’m in the kitchen
|
| With the tombstone blues.
|
| Where Ma Raney and Beethoven once unwrapped their bed roll
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| Tuba players now rehearse around the flagpole
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| And the National Bank at a profit sells road maps for the soul
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| To the old folks home and the college.
|
| I wish I could write you a melody so plain
|
| That could hold you dear lady from going insane
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| That could ease you and cool you and cease all the pain
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| Of your useless and pointless knowledge
|
| Mama’s in the fact’ry
|
| She ain’t got no shoes
|
| Daddy’s in the alley
|
| He’s lookin' for food
|
| And I’m in the kitchen
|
| With the tombstone blues. |