As the boss left for the smoke deck,
I figured, "What the heck?"
That slave driver!

He choked on his Phillip Morris,
Just as we started the chorus.
He would not be gone long (a-ha!)
We started the creepy occupational song

A chill ran down his spine
That's the bottom line
He abandoned the craving in his brain-
Heading into the rain,
our singing caused him pain

With every creepy line-
A jolt would shake his spine

Hi-ho, hi-ho,
From work that jerk will go

Was our revolution wrong?
Introduce to your union,
the creepy occupational song!