“9-5'ers Anthem,” the thirteenth track off of Labor Days (2001), the third studio album by Aesop Rock.

This song is a critique of labor under (American) capitalism.[Verse 1]

Zoom in to the fuming of an aggravated breed

Via the study of post-adolescent agitated seeds

Half the patients wasted self prior to Commencement

So I focus on the urban Oxygen samples, the half that made it breathe

They sold Pompeii impression, waste infections

And twelve steps to lesson

Cretins swiftly tippy toe on hard to swallow, barter concepts

The give-it get-it, never let it self passport our stubbornness

Martyrs talks money causes in a harvesting Spartacus

And so on I've thrown long Hail Mary bombs

Toward cookie-cutter Mother Natures bedazzled synthetic fabrics

Life treats the peasants like

They tried to fuck his woman while he slept inside

Well they're merely chasing perfectionist emblems

When the clock strikes nine

I'll be waking with the best of routine caffeine team players

For the cycle of it

Under a dusted angel harp string Big Brother is watching

My odometer like buzzard to fallen elk, talking stealth

We got babies, rubber stamps, and briefcase parts

We on some door-to-door now

Order ten dollars or more, we'll shove it down your throat for free

I'll sacrifice my inborn tendencies

For copper pennies for one commanding "Gimme that"

So we can retain baby fat

Make the biter snake bedlam

Holocaust freak, heckle shiesty brain headroom shaped planet

Make a move, pause, make a move break cannon

Bent barrel one eight zero, U-Turn, squeeze, end it

It's on like it's never been

It's bleeding well

It's bigger than a breadbox

It corrodes my leaky finance

I'll take my seat atop the Brooklyn Bridge

With a Coke and a bag of chips

To watch a thousand lemmings plummet just because

The first one slipped

Sometimes I laugh at victory, kissing these little question marks

I tend to underestimate my average

Just another bastard savage

Someday you'll all eat out of my cold hand

Cuz every dog has its day

At which point, I'll pull it away

[Hook]

Now we the American working population

Hate the fact that eight hours a day

Is wasted on chasing the dream of someone that isn't us

And we may not hate our jobs

But we hate jobs in general

That don't have to do with fighting our own causes

We the American working population

Hate the nine-to-five day-in day-out

When we'd rather be supporting ourselves

By being paid to perfect the pastimes

That we have harbored based solely on the fact

That it makes us smile if it sounds dope

[Verse 2]

It's the year of the silkworm

Everything I built burned yesterday

Let's display the purpose that these stilts serve

Elevate the spreading of the silk germ

Trying to weave a web but all that I believe in is dead

Nah brother, it's the year of the jackal

Saddle up on high horse

My torch forced Polaris embarrassed (Uh)

Shackle up the hassle by the dooming legend marriage

I bought some new sneakers

I just hope my legacy matches

It's the year of the landshark

Dry as sand, parched, damn get these men some water

They're out there being slaughtered

In meaningless wars so you don't have to bother

And can sit and soak the idiotbox trying to fuck their daughters

Man it's the year of the Orphan

Seated adjacent to the firefly circling the torches on your porches

Trying to guard the fortress of a king they've never seen or met

But all are trained to murder at the first sign of a threat

Maybe it's the year of the waterbug

Cockroach utter thug specimen

Fury spawned from dreaming of your next of kin

I'm still dealing with this mess I'm in

I've been the object of your ridicule

You've been a bitch lieutenant

God, it's the year of the underpaid employee

Spittin' forty plus a week

And tryin' to rape Earth on my off time

You bored dizzy, I can't keep myself busy enough

So you can run, run, run

And I'mma let you think you won

(Everybody!)

[Hook]

We the American working population

Hate the fact that eight hours a day

Is wasted on chasing the dream of someone that isn't us

And we may not hate our jobs

But we hate jobs in general

That don't have to do with fighting our own causes

We the American working population

Hate the nine to five day-in day-out

But we'd rather be supporting ourselves

By being paid to perfect the pastimes

That we have harbored based solely on the fact

That it makes us smile if it sounds dope

[Outro]

Fumble outta bed and stumble to the kitchen

Pour myself a cup of ambition and

Yawn and stretch and my life is a mess and

If I never make it home today, God bless

Fumble outta bed and stumble to the kitchen

Pour myself a cup of ambition and

Yawn and stretch and my life is a mess and

If I never make it home today, God bless