Letras
To be a cut above the rest when they're cutting up the comfort
Would be no great comfort to me
When they're handing out cards and make us think
Of disinfecting and the risk of a serious disease
As the radio sings about a million things
From the rafters via the BBC
Someone freezes his spine and says it's time to make a run for it
And crawls into the machinery
Mama, don't cry for me
I'm working in the food factory
The sun sinks down into the west
And it comes up in the east
Some of us say that that's a sign of something
But it makes no difference to me
Some of us can't see
Some of us have got a mental age
Three big mouths and little minds
That all need some help
Mama, don't cry for me
I'm working in the food factory
I'm working in the food factory
Who in the world could ever see it come to this?
Morning, noon, and night, it never stops at all
Boys that run the line don't wanna make a meal of it
It's not their favorite dish
I've seen them huddling in corners
Some say they're planning somethin' big
I've heard whispers in the toilets
But that's really not my gig
A problem shared is a problem spread
I'm not one to moan
I'll do my work, roll over, play dead
Clock off and set off home
Oh, mama, don't cry for me
I'm working in the food factory
I'm working in the food factory
I'm working in the food factory