Well, the sweet pretty things are in bed now, of course

City fathers they're trying to endorse

The reincarnation of Paul Revere's horse

But the town has no need to be nervous

The ghost of Belle Starr, she hands down her wits

To Jezebel the nun, she violently knits

A bald wig for Jack the ripper, who sits

At the head of the Chamber of Commerce

Mama's in the factory

She ain't got no shoes

Daddy's in the alley lookin' for the fuse

I'm in the kitchen with the tombstone blues

The hysterical bride in the penny arcade

Screaming, she moans, "I've just been made"

Sends for the doctor, who pulls down the shade

Say my advice is to not let the boys in

Now, the medicine man comes and he shuffles inside

He walks with a swagger, and he says to the bride

"Stop all this weeping, swallow your pride

You won't die, it's not poison"

Mama's in the factory

She ain't got no shoes

Daddy's in the alley lookin' for the fuse

I'm in the kitchen with the tombstone blues

John the Baptist, after torturing a thief

Looks up at his hero, the Commander-in-Chief

Saying, "Tell me, great hero, but please, make it brief

Is there a hole for me to get sick in?"

The Commander-in-Chief answers him while chasing a fly

Saying, "Death to all those who would whimper and cry"

And dropping a barbell, he points to the sky

Saying, "The sun's not yellow, it's chicken"

Mama's in the factory

She ain't got no shoes

Daddy's in the alley lookin' for the fuse

I'm in the kitchen with the tombstone blues

The geometry of innocent flesh on the bone

Causes Galileo's maths book to get thrown

At Delilah who's sitting worthlessly alone

But the tears on her cheeks are from laughter

I wish I could give Brother Bill his great thrill

I've set him in chains at the top of the hill

Send them out for some pillars and Cecil B. DeMille

He could die happily ever after

Mama's in the factory

She ain't got no shoes

Daddy's in the alley lookin' for the fuse

I'm in the kitchen with the tombstone blues

Where Ba Rainey and Beethoven once unwrapped their bedroll

Tuba players now, rehearse around the flagpole

And the National Bank at a profit sells road maps for the soul

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

That can ease you, cool you, and cease the pain

Of your useless and pointless knowledge

Mama's in the factory

She ain't got no shoes

Daddy's in the alley lookin' for the fuse

I'm in the kitchen with the tombstone blues