About the horrors of being working class in Melbourne.

Broken backs and fractured thighs
Keep on working to appease the wife.

Overworked and underpaid
No compensation … you just don’t rate;
Toe the line or be brought down
You’re better off Not hanging round.

Meet the demands of the government
Though you feel dead you’re only spent;
A fear of living going round in your head
No point trying, you’d be better off dead.

Feeling shattered to the core
Your soul is bent your senses raw;
No hope on Earth of better climes
You’ve got no worth so how about dying?

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