I can't imagine
becoming a part
Of the working class.

The burden of a schedule
And the thought of mental decay
Hurts more than when my step-daddy hit me.

Cause at least
that pain,
was temporary.

I'm expected to fray at the seams
Until my hair turns gray
'Til I'm eligible for retirement
If at all.

Forty hours a week
That looks pretty ******* bleak
Especially when you think
That the lasts one
Are sick of their ******* lives.

So I guess
It *****.

I'd rather die
Than become the working class.

I'd rather be brain dead and in a mental ward
Being spoon fed and *** wiped.

Don't ******* patronize me.
I know what it's gotta be.

I'm not stupid
I'm just learning everything.

Nobody even taught me.