We rattle the cages in which we live,
  not the poorest but near that bottom.
  Our boots are always muddy and hands
  callused from working in the trenches.
  Denim is our uniform and we hide anger
  behind our smiles and booties on boots
  so as not to soil your perfect houses.
  We work hard and don't need your gyms.
  We drink like you every night but we
  have cheap wine and beer while you
  toast with scotch and fancy martinis.
  Old pickups we drive on a prayer and
  hope our kids will prosper like I know
  you hope yours will get into Harvard.