| Song | Chicken Farm |
| Artist | Dead Kennedys |
| Album | Frankenchrist |
| 作词 : Dead Kennedys | |
| Another rainy morning mingling at the market | |
| Bartering for food for another day | |
| Rifle shots ring out behind the crumbling buildings | |
| Executions have begun | |
| Sprawled in the square are today's broken bodies | |
| Lots to pick clean if you're first and quick | |
| Rift through their pockets, peel off their clothes | |
| To wear or sell when you wash out the blood | |
| Run my little brother | |
| Run to the chicken farm | |
| Opportunity is calling | |
| You might even find a watch | |
| We're going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| We're going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| We're going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| We're going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| Napalm rains no more but the war goes on | |
| Little brother died playing at the dump today | |
| He found a new toy and held it up proud | |
| Then it blew him to bits | |
| How many more children | |
| Will be killed or die at birth | |
| Deformed by | |
| Agent Orange | |
| In our food chain forever more | |
| We're going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| We're going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| We're going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| We're going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| This time we'll buy our way out | |
| I've got a plan, you wait and see | |
| I smuggled you this map | |
| In the gash | |
| I sliced in my thigh | |
| I hope I'm there to join you, love | |
| We're blown to pieces one by one in this camp | |
| We crawl shaking through the fields at gunpoint all day | |
| To defuse leftover land mines | |
| By hand, hand, hands | |
| We shiver on the deck and stiffen for the worst | |
| If the pirates come around we might as well be dead | |
| We'll be thrown in the sea or butchered if we're women | |
| All in the name of gold | |
| One foot in a land, we barely understand | |
| Can't speak the tongue of | |
| Yankee hospitality | |
| Our kids at school get beat up | |
| To the tune of, "Boat people, go home" | |
| Sliced with a machete | |
| From the breast of our homeland | |
| Our new world tries to spit us out | |
| But it sure beats the chicken farm | |
| We're going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| We're going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| We're going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| We're going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| Farm, farm, farm |
| zuò cí : Dead Kennedys | |
| Another rainy morning mingling at the market | |
| Bartering for food for another day | |
| Rifle shots ring out behind the crumbling buildings | |
| Executions have begun | |
| Sprawled in the square are today' s broken bodies | |
| Lots to pick clean if you' re first and quick | |
| Rift through their pockets, peel off their clothes | |
| To wear or sell when you wash out the blood | |
| Run my little brother | |
| Run to the chicken farm | |
| Opportunity is calling | |
| You might even find a watch | |
| We' re going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| We' re going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| We' re going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| We' re going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| Napalm rains no more but the war goes on | |
| Little brother died playing at the dump today | |
| He found a new toy and held it up proud | |
| Then it blew him to bits | |
| How many more children | |
| Will be killed or die at birth | |
| Deformed by | |
| Agent Orange | |
| In our food chain forever more | |
| We' re going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| We' re going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| We' re going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| We' re going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| This time we' ll buy our way out | |
| I' ve got a plan, you wait and see | |
| I smuggled you this map | |
| In the gash | |
| I sliced in my thigh | |
| I hope I' m there to join you, love | |
| We' re blown to pieces one by one in this camp | |
| We crawl shaking through the fields at gunpoint all day | |
| To defuse leftover land mines | |
| By hand, hand, hands | |
| We shiver on the deck and stiffen for the worst | |
| If the pirates come around we might as well be dead | |
| We' ll be thrown in the sea or butchered if we' re women | |
| All in the name of gold | |
| One foot in a land, we barely understand | |
| Can' t speak the tongue of | |
| Yankee hospitality | |
| Our kids at school get beat up | |
| To the tune of, " Boat people, go home" | |
| Sliced with a machete | |
| From the breast of our homeland | |
| Our new world tries to spit us out | |
| But it sure beats the chicken farm | |
| We' re going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| We' re going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| We' re going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| We' re going down | |
| To the chicken farm | |
| Farm, farm, farm |