I’ve been a busboy, a waiter, A salesman for road crews A cook and a soda ****. The American market is Not set up that well for Kids who want to work. Before I was twenty five I’d had eighty different jobs Some of them at the same time. Some parents think their kids Are a good source of income. Others think that is a crime.
I suppose it’s one thing If the kid picks his own job; Does what he wants with money. But robbing his stash When he is out working Is not even close to being funny. And keeping a youngster Both working and schooling And no social or playtime is sad. It robs him of childhood And rips off all his ambition. The child has to somehow turn bad.
Maybe it only trusting That the kid learns not to do. Maybe that dreams don’t come true. Maybe the kid learns His hard work and dedication Only gets him blisters when he’s through. That was all true of me; I did what I was told and I learned that joy and accomplishment Earned no praise for the doing Only produced, if I didn’t work hard A tremendous amount of admonishment.
So, when I left home I had no direction in mind; I looked ahead to sixty more years Of working and being robbed By people I wanted to trust And not even being capable of tears. This may sound like a whine Blaming and much worse A griper that’s totally out of line. But what it really means Is your kids aren’t your slaves To be put to work in some coal mine.