I’m sitting mute in my wheelchair,
They think that I’m deaf and dumb,
Since ever the stroke that took me out
Emboldened everyone,
The jokes that they told behind my back
They say straight out to my face,
They think I’ll die of a heart attack,
I think they’re a sad disgrace!
It’s always about the money,
It’s always about the gilt,
They think they’re getting a fortune,
They’re all hocked up to the hilt,
They think that my Corporation
Will soon be theirs for the take,
They’ll shunt me out to the sidelines,
I think that’s a big mistake!
If they think that I’m weak and dying,
They really don’t know the man,
I built up a corporation
With the strength of these two hands,
I was out in the streets at fourteen,
I was selling and hustling then,
While they were ******* their mother’s paps
I was out with working men.
Not one of them’s done a hard days work,
They sit there, pushing a pen,
They’ve never raised blisters on their fists
That bled, oh, time and again,
They sit in their pristine offices
With a wall of framed degrees,
But never spent time in a filthy trench
With water, up to their knees.
When I’m left alone in the evenings,
I stagger up out of this chair,
And force myself to walk to the wall
And back, as I fight despair,
But I’m gradually getting stronger,
And my head’s as good as it was,
I’ll show these ignorant jokers
What it takes to be a boss!
I think they’re getting impatient,
They want me out of the way,
I’ve heard them mutter between them,
That they’ll speed my going away,
The one that I used to trust the most
Has sat in my chairman’s chair,
He smirks and shirks all the daily work
While I can but sit and stare.
They’re treating me like an imbecile
They’re treating me like I’m mad,
They’ve draped a blanket over my lap
And don’t realise, I’m glad.
They come at night with a plastic bag
And they place it over my head,
But out from the rug my Magnum looms
And then, Bang Bang, they’re dead!
David Lewis Paget
