Down in a village where most residents were poor
And old man had a factory that folks called "The Killing Floor"
He was a surly master and though his workers all wives
He'd push them within inches of their lives!

They all were sick and tired of this stuff
The men decided that they'd had enough

We won't take this anymore!
Not gonna die on The Killing Floor
He won't work us into the ground
It's time to strike a match and burn it down...

They waited for the old man to head home for the night
Then muscled in with kerosene and lanterns to ignite
They took one final look one final look at all these monsterous machines
Then lit the match that would fulfill their dreams

It was a blazing jubilee
They felt these flames had set these workers free

We won't take this anymore!
Not gonna die on The Killing Floor
He won't work us into the ground
It's time to strike a match and burn it down...

As the workers danced around the fire having fun
The old pulled up terrified and screamed "What have you done?!"
"This factory was the only thing that kept us all alive!
Now you've gone and blown us all sky high!"

The factory was above an oil lake
But all too late they realized their mistake

We wouldn't take it anymore!
Didn't wanna die on The Killing Floor
But we drove ourselves to the ground
When we [bad word] that match and burned it down...
Why'd we have to go and burn it down?!