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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=364009" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Worker</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Eight or more hours you work everyday, <br>to earn your weekly wage, opening it, <br>look in disgust with what you made. <br>Therefore, off on strike you go, to cause a little fuss. <br>The PM beams a fat face, <br>from your television screen, <br>say you must go back to work, <br>and live within your means. <br>You look at him angrily, <br>saying, “you silly fool. <br>I’d be better clothed and fed <br>if I lived off the dole.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is all right for him, <br>with his thousands a year, <br>but what about us poor workers <br>on forty pound a week, <br>whose monies gone, <br>before we even, see it. <br>That does not tweak.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Join the Common Market; <br>they herald their mournful cry. <br>It is the first stop to paradise, <br>but that was just another lie. <br>Food went up left, right and centre, <br>thousands landed on the dole. <br>While parliament got fatter, <br>and we were the ones to fall. <br>Taxes rose like tyrants, <br>to keep the bread from our mouths. <br>The poor kids lost their school milk <br>to these educated louts. <br>Live within your mean they say, <br>we do not give a damn, <br>we are the ones in power. <br>We are going to milk this land.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Milk the land they did by heck, <br>from every mother’s son. <br>A PM we never voted for <br>sits like a king on his throne. <br>I do not want an election now; <br>I’d probably never get in again. <br>The Chancellor of Exchequer, <br>he lives next door, <br>sits preparing a budget, <br>that none of us is looking forward for.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Prices rise daily just to keep us poor, <br>seems they are out to starve us, <br>that is all we are sure of anymore, <br>and trying to bar the bailiff from the front door. <br>Consideration for the men who work, <br>to earn a decent pay. There isn’t any there, <br>all they are out for, <br>is to see you in an early grave. <br>You speak out against them, <br>they call you commie scum, <br>but they are the ones <br>with the red flag flying from their bum.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=David+Harris">David Harris</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=364009" data-title="Worker de David Harris" data-description="Eight or more hours you work everyday, 
to earn your weekly wage, opening it, 
look in disgust with what you made. 
Therefore, off on strike you go, to cause a little fuss. 
The PM beams a fat face, 
from your television screen, 
say you must go b..."></div>
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