we go to work six days a week pushing pens and sometimes brushes
pay our taxes, remaining meek while before our eyes life rushes
bearly enough at the weeks end left over to enjoy
a well deserved beer or three with the other worn out boys
am i the only person here who’s left feeling slightly ill
by the sound of the happy postman and his endless stream of bills
alarm bell rings and up we get, repeat again for meagre pay
and as i age, and tire some, life feels more like groundhog day
and on my sunday,that single day, when i should rise so keen
all i can picture in my head is monday on their machine
that treadmill where we pedal hard and prey for no mishaps
where any loss of momentum is punished with a wrist slap
so i’ll keep pushing on for now and work my fingers to the quick
and try my best to avoid the wrath of westminsters legal stick
but one question i would like to ask the clever money men at the top
what will you do when we’ve had enough and everyone just stops?