The skids and muddy footprints
on the floor will make me cry
And all the wrappers on the carpet
I'll be cleaning 'til I die
And sometimes I feel frightened
when I glance down at the floor
Oh, my eyes! Oh, my heart!
Oh, my lord!

Are we broomin'? Or are we moppers?
My hands are idle, my mind is cold
And I'm on my knees, scrubbing like a sailor
Are we broomin'? Or are we moppers?

Pay my regrets to chore-prone children
And to custodians so skilled
For when there is a mess that needs cleaned,
they have to work against their will
So say goodbye to freedom,
because that spill won't clean itself
Which device should I use
to do the work of hell?

Are we broomin'? Or are we moppers?
My hands are idle, my mind is cold
And I'm on my knees, scrubbing like Vince Carter
Are we broomin'? Or are we moppers?

Take your shoes off at the door
so I don't have to clean more
Onto the floor your crap is falling
You're the one that I feel like mauling

Are we broomin'? Or are we moppers?
My hands are idle, my mind is cold
And I'm on my knees, scrubbing like a surgeon

This is the work of hell

Are we broomin'? Or are we moppers?
My hands are idle, my mind is cold
And I'm on my knees, scrubbing like a car wash
Are we broomin'? Or are we moppers?

Are we broomin'? Or are we moppers?
Are we broomin'? Or are we moppers?