Jungle Of The Midwest Sea

In the year of our Lord 1903, in the meat packing plants off the shores of the sea

Stood a young man at his slaughter post a newby by his side

He said grind it up and ship it out doesn'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 fool our land so we're all in the same boat

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 well in business no matter the effect

We're the butchers of this country we're the workers in the mud

We're the slaughter house advisors, we're the bleeders of the blood