Em G
Came back to Austin after the war, been on the line since ‘74,
D Em
working on the killing floor, to make Hormel its spam
Every year the line gets quicker, dollar’s cheaper, talk gets slicker
Some guys numb themselves with liquor, or learn not to give a damn
Hormel always says they’re squeezed, and the contract’s not a charity
They’re paying half your wage at IBD, and we’re steady losing ground
They wants cuts, so the bureaucrats dump it on the new hire’s backs
Sign or we’ll give your plant the sack, and gut this company town

Chorus
C G
Hard knocks on the killing floor taught us how to swing
D Em
We ain’t beat even when we’re beaten down
C G
And you best not pull your punches when you’re comin’ for the king
D Em
and you’re fighting for your life in a company town

The new plant was a slaughterhouse, for the pigs and workers both,
Contract gave us no way out, but hit them in the papers
and put their dirty flows of cash, in the magnifying glass,
Til the contract day was passed, and we took back our labor
On the day we stopped their line, they moved the slaughter and assigned
The other locals overtime, to scab against their brothers
If we let them do it, then they’ve won- we have to shut it down as one
But national said we’d go alone, no calling in the others

Chorus,

Melodic break, 1 verse+chorus – low whistle takes the melody

When they brought the scabs, that winter day, we blocked them at the factory gate
And it took more cops to clear the way, then they had in the whole station
So Perpich played his favorite card, calling in the National Guard
and you have to fight back twice as hard, when you’re under occupation
We hit the road to spread the strain, up and down the Hormel chain
And other towns joined the campaign, even if it meant the black list
A strike’s a race to see who’ll last, between your belly and the boss’s cash
But the checks came in for food and gas, to get the kids their breakfast

Chorus

March stormed in with the picket clash, and the Austin streets were choked in gas
But cops and soldiers couldn’t smash, the spirit of P-9
But the national union bent the knee, to get peace with the company

Put the local into trusteeship, to bust our picket line
They put the scabs in the union hall, even stripped our mural off the wall, 
And when the end of the strike was called, sold out a generation
Now old King Pork still wears the crown, to beat the packing worker down
It’s hard times in a company town, hard times in a boss’s nation

Chorus