It seems that just like prices Your salary always rises But when it comes to mine You quickly draw the line And tell me to do without Then you begin to shout That you are the party that Always tips your hat To the good old days And the good old ways How the country should run But only you are having fun. You and the other rich kids Have all the toys and games While our lives stay the same; Underpaid and underfed Until we are all dead And only you remain.
That is your refrain In the marching song you sing And the privation you bring With your deals and lies. Just one of the guys. And we are left out in the cold Unless we happen to get bold And call you out for villainy For stealing every penny And begrudging us an ounce Of clean ***** on which to pounce To grow a meager garden here To feed us one more year. But that seems against your rules. We that are your tired mules And can’t afford to bribe you To do what you know you ought to.