Well, you wake up in the mornin'
You hear the work bell ring
And they march you to the table
You see the same old thing
Ain't no food upon the table
There's no fork up in the pan
But you better not complain, boy
You'll get in trouble with the man
If you're ever in Houston
Well, you better do right
Yeah, you better not fight, Lord
Or the Sheriff will grab ya
And the boys will bring you down
The next thing you know, boy
