Licked

I’m just a common two-by-one,
a humble worker bee.
I have no truck with bosses,
or with the boor-jwozzee.

I feel the jackboot in my face
each time I draw my pay,
then I sit in the Fox & Hound
and lick my wounds all day.

I have no cousin in the Lords
or uncle in Debrett’s.
All I need is a pint of ale
and a pack of cigarettes.

I’m happy as the day is long,
for this I give much thanks:
that I was born a working man,
as thick as two short planks.


 

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