Poverty cripples
The working man,
His ode is
A dirge of pain;
A sullen, eerie,
Chilling refrain.

Life can be so fine
For the bone-idle rich,
Yet all they ever
Seem to do is bitch;
They bitch about
The union reps,
They bitch about
The working man;
They bitch whenever
He makes a stand,
Yes they bitch
Whenever they can.

The labourer slaves
His life away,
Without a whinge
Without a bitch;
The trade unions do
Their level best,
To see things move
Without a hitch;
They only go on strike
As a last resort,
Yet when they do
We get overwrought.

The unions seek
A better deal,
For their members
For the working man;
Yet all we ever hear
About them,
Is libel, slander
And defamation.