Worker Boy!

I’m one of those trodden townie truckers,

just another poor sun-kissed sucker,

chasin’ after my wimpy weekly wage,

as it gets me out of my rusty iron cage.

I can do it all,

I’m at your beck n’ call;

wood, metal, lawns, and bricks,

I’ll keep workin’ till it’s six.

If you need some roofing,

send me up a ladder hoofing,

missing all important dates

while I’m stripping scattered slates.

I’m a grueling gravel grader grating

spending all his time heated, hissing, hating,

as your mewling nitpicking starts getting on my nerves;

I’m only painting pompous places cause’ it serves.

I’m nothing but a lazy ditch digger

who is lacking any vigor

heat-stroking with the hammer-blow

a temperamental tamper hardly making any dough.

I’ve got sweat clinging to my brow,

chugging water while I’m begging for some chow,

beaten by a barking boss underneath the sun,

while I wait for the five o’clock freedom that I’ve won.

I’m a wearied worn weakened worker boy

who said goodbye to all his happiness and joy

wondering if it’s still really strange

to keep waiting for a change.