Thirsting for blood
expecting a flood
when the turnip goes dry
their greed does not die

no the blood from a turnip
is never enough
it must be ground to a pulp
it's a treatment quite rough

we're put through the mill
which is never a thrill
with too little pay
so they might have their way

but somehow we survive
although barely alive
as they leave us a crumb
no they're greed is not dumb

the field has been plowed
they've planted the seed
from our pockets they'll harvest
the next crop of their greed