On one side was Albany Avenue,
On the other side a rushing creek,
Laid in Flemish bond three story a high fortress of bricks,
This was a place of employ,
The Kinderhook Hoopskirt Works,
But it still hurts,
When I think of the privileged captivity,
Of a mill girl like me,
Kept sequestered only seen on a rope bridge,
That hangs high over the stream,
We are kept like gally slaves,
WHile strangers decorate our father's graves,
A dark secret of this river, this creek,
This stream oh what does it mean?
You'll hear no flattery at the factory,
Of the Kinderhook Hoopskirt Works,
There comes an undertone of frantic in her stitchery,
Idle talk do the turn to the wicked take a listen,
And you with surely see,
Between the girls,
A feud ensued our heroine turns in word
To her collection to examine her collection,
Her collection of two hundred and twenty five smiles,
You'll hear no flattery at the factory,
Of the Kinderhook Hoopskirt Works,
You'll hear no flattery at the factory,
Of the Kinderhook Hoopskirt Works,
Each decision we make is based on love or fear,
Shall I be kind or cruel or fake?
Shall I now shed a tear?
You can see them up in the windows of the factory,
Any night of the week,
Like beautifully gowned wax figures on display,
With the loveliest eyes you've ever seen,
Squinting to baste the flouts basting underskirts,
As big as wagon wheels,
Stabbing feelings with a needle,
Do you like how that feels?
You'll hear no flattery at the factory,
Of the Kinderhook Hoopskirt Works,
You'll hear no flattery at the factory,
Of the Kinderhook Hoopskirt Works...