Tired hands grab your pay,
hard earned cash to numb your
brain.
Expensive leak, master's lick.
Fruitless labor. Ease you
pain..
Dream of wealth you can’t
have,
Plastic card to buy it
all.
Live beyond all your
dreams,
pAwn your future at the mall.
Wannabe bourgeoisie,
but don't make enough to
pay.
Needs to find one more job,
Working man, Working man
When will you use your head?
Working man, Working man
They’ll slave you till your dead.
The man spins on TV
righteous lies that start a
war.
Wave the flag, plant the
hate,
like a hundred times
before.
Cannon fodder when he
kills,
kneels down to kiss his
cross.
Gives them hell, serves them
well,
Comes back home to serve his boss.
Half-man back, angry
drunk,
There is little left
inside.
Given God, lies through
faith,
Felt no pain when his mind died.
Working man, Working man
Rise up before your dead
Working man, Working man
They’ll slave you till your dead.
Confused boy, unemployed.
Not quite living, just
for drugs.
Like his dad, he is too
Running errands for some
thugs.
Teenage daughter, works
the grill,
In the backroom for some
foil,
Boss’s trap, sexual pass,
accidentally burned with
oil
(his word against hers -spoken-)
Learn the rules, follow
fools.
Better teach your
children well.
Don’t complain, play the
game,
and enjoy your living hell.
Working man, Working man
Fight back, and use your head.
Working man, Working man
They’ll slave you till your dead.
Adrián Boutureira
Houston, 1986
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