Sydney
My mind wandered on the hillsides
above those english fields
the smell of hay the prick of gorse
the meanings clear to me
the sun was never setting
twilight bestrode the day
and the feelings i was feeling
would never go away.
this was my blessed england
this is where i was born
this england now forgotten
while i live on fatal shores.
i stole a half a sixpence
i needed it for bread
then i was here transported
and am the walking dead.
i am now here in australia
the convict nation found
when ships do cease their sailing
and when they run aground.
its not easy in this foreign land
its hot and dry and hard
but the soldiers here amongst us
sell us rum and whisky jars.
for its too late to make conscience
a real matter in the day
one drink one drink one drink of rum
and my dreams they float away.
it was magical at landing
after four months on those seas
we could not walk in a straight line
with our sea full wobbled knees.
we hunkered down in sydney
we were sent out straight to work
we lived in a small compound
with dry biscuits as our perk.
we stitched and sewed rough garments
we worked with fingers raw
we worked and worked and worked
till we couldn't work no more.
our home was called the factory
we never got outside
we never saw that sydney
a distant twenty miles.
i've told it like it was then
i'll tell it to the world
about that female factory
and all us factory girls.
poem by David Keig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
On A Seven-Day Diary
Oh I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
and ate and talked and went to sleep.
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
from work and ate and slept.
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
and ate and watched a show and slept.
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
and ate steak and went to sleep.
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
and ate and fucked and went to sleep.
Then it was Saturday, Saturday, Saturday!
Love must be the reason for the week!
We went shopping! I saw clouds!
The children explained everything!
I could talk about the main thing!
What did I drink on Saturday night
that lost the first, best half of Sunday?
The last half wasn't worth this 'word.'
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
from work and ate and went to sleep,
refreshed but tired by the weekend.
poem by Alan Dugan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Aftermath
Now the radio stutters. snaps to life.
Some sour song that sets it right.
And when London falls
He'd like to call
But the stars collide.
They're beautiful and much maligned.
In a universe where you see the worst,
And it's up to you to fix it.
Now you've worked it out
And you see it all
And you've worked it out
And you see it all
And you want to shout
How you see it all
It's easy to dismiss the "what's it all about" crowd.
There is no doubt. it's this, here, now.
And you close your eyes.
He's not coming back.
So you work it out, overfeed the cat.
And the plants are dry and they need to drink.
So you do your best. and you flood the sink.
Sit down in the kitchen and cry.
Now you've worked it out
And you see it all
And you've worked it out
And you see it all
And you want to shout
How you see it all
Now the universe left you for a runners lap.
It feels like home when it comes crashing back.
And it makes you laugh
And it makes you cry,
When London falls
And you're still alive.
The radio stutters,
It makes you laugh
And the aftermath,
Open up your eyes.
You're so alive.
Now you've worked it out
And you see it all
And you've worked it out
And you see it all
And you want to shout
How you see it all
How you've worked it out
And you see it all
How you've worked it out
And you see it all
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Straight From The Factory
Straight from the factory
Straight from the factory
We were made for each other
One of those things thats meant to be
Straight from the factory
Nothin less than exactly
Youre the only lock thats made to fit my key.
Many parts and many hearts
Been mismatched before
Still they make delivery.
Some folks send em back and never find what they need
But babe my satisfactions guaranteed.
Straight from the factory
We were made for each other
One of those things thats meant to be
Straight from the factory
Nothin less than exactly
Youre the only lock thats made to fit my key.
(instrumental)
Straight from the factory
We were made for each other
One of those things thats meant to be
Straight from the factory
Nothin less than exactly
Youre the only lock thats made to fit my key.
Sittin tight and sittin proud
Waitin on a shove
Passers by just keep on passin by
Ill admit I did a bit of passin by myself
Til I found a perfect fit
And now Im tied.
Straight from the factory
We were made for each other
Perfect match as anyone can see
Straight from the factory
Nothin less than exactly
Youre the only lock thats made to fit my key.
Youre the only lock thats made to fit my key.............
song performed by by Clint Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Work To Do!
i came from a generation
that worked.... was born to
work, daylight to dawn,
for everything we had.
we grew our own food, we
cut firewood, we worked
with our hands.
we were taught to work...
we built houses, bridges,
paved roads... worked on
farms, worked in sawmills,
worked in factories...
whatever it took for food
and shelter...
and if a neighbor got hurt,
or sick, and couldnt work...
we helped him and his family
till he could.
those of us left who can work
are still working, a lot of us are
out of work, and cant find work!
and so the world has changed...
it seems like a lot of people
spend more time avoiding work
than working... a lot of people
look for the easy way out...are
dependent on society...
still a lot of good and willing people
just need help.
they call this progress...based
on technology, and looking out for
number one. seperated, almost islands...
greed has taken the place of the bent back!
so when it all falls apart, and that will
be soon, what happens? who knows how
to survive? who has the backbone?
things to think about, and yes...
work to do!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I've worked in a factory. I was a garbage man. I worked in a post office. It's not that long ago. I like to think that I'm just a regular guy.
quote by Denzel Washington
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Working At The Factory
All my life I've been a workin' man
When I was at school they said that's all you'll ever understand
No profession. I didn't figure in their plans
So they sent me down factory to be a workin' man
All I lived for, All I lived for
All I lived for was to get out of the factory
Now I'm here seemingly free, but working at the factory.
The music came along and gave new life to me
And gave me hope back in 1983
The music came and set me free
From working at the factory
All I lived for, All I lived for
All I lived for was to get out of the factory
All I lived for, All I lived for
All I lived for was to get out of the factory
Never wanted to be like everybody else
But now there are so many like me sitting on the shelf
They sold us a dream but in reality
It was just another factory
I made the music , thought that was mine
It made me free , but that was in another time
But then the corporations and the big combines
Turned musicians into factory workers on assembly lines.
All I lived for, All I lived for
All I lived for was to get out of the factory
We made the music to set ourselves free
From working at the factory.
All my life I've put in a working day
Now it's sign the contract. Get production on the way
Take the money, make the music pay
Working at the factory
All I lived for was to get out of the factory.
Never wanted to be like everybody else
But now there are so many like me sitting on the shelf
They sold us a dream but in reality
Was just another factory
Working at the factory.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Second-hand Car Spiv
Sung by spiv, flash & floosies
Spiv: I was born a slum gutter infantile,
Brute-force educated, delinquent juvenile.
I am a product of mass produced factory fodder,
Streets full of tenement blocks, rat infested filth and squalor.
I left school, went straight on the dole
And unemployments no enjoyment,
Welfare state owned my mind and my body and my soul.
So I worked my way up to be a second-hand car spiv,
But dont judge me harshly because Im just a slum kid.
I built up my business with a quick wit and fist,
So dont double-cross me or my hoods will dissect you
With their black jacks and shiv.
Slum kids never get a break, theyve got to fight their way up.
Wheel and deal, beg and steal,
Sweat blood to earn a buck.
I didnt want to work on the factory floor,
I wasnt content, I wanted more
Than to be a slave of a lathe,
Work all day and go home bored.
So a second- hand car spiv was what I became.
I built an empire because I used my brains.
Chorus: he was a second-hand car spiv up from the slums,
So dont judge him harshly because hes just a slum kid.
Then he moved into property, stocks and shares,
Spiv: and into high finance and youve got to agree
That running a multi-million corporation
Sure beats selling cars second-hand.
Chorus: once he sold old worn out heaps to the punters on the street,
Spiv: now Im in control of the country as a whole,
And the world is at my feet.
Chorus: the world is at his feet.
Spiv: power, power, Ive got power oozing out of me,
And when you think of all the things Ive done
It says a lot for one
Who worked his way up from the streets.
Yes Im a second-hand car spiv.
Do a deal, buy and sell,
Its my trade, I know it well.
Make a sale, ring the bell
And let the suckers go to hell.
Bank the profits, count the change
Another sucker comes your way.
Life is a crooked game,
And slum kids never change.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Homelessness In Winter
back about 30 years ago,
living on the streets in Charlotte...
finally found a job... was lucky enough
to have a place to take a shower...
sleeping in the backseat of a broke
down Ford Maverick... cold winter...
got up and walked 4 miles to work
every morning,4 miles 'home' in the
evening...
went on for a couple months before
i got a place to live...
so yes i know what homelessness
feels like...and i cant help thinking
about all the empty foreclosed houses....
empty houses, homeless people....
back then, even if you couldnt find a
real job, they had a place where you
could go and line up to do day work...
worked all day for about 25 dollars...
if you couldnt do that, you could always
sell blood.... i dont know what they do
now....i just know it's a hard life...and if
you've got family, got kids...
something to think about the next time
you see a homeless person walking the
streets!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Beautiful Land Of Australia
All you on emigration bent,
With home and England discontent,
Come, listen to my sad lament,
All about the bush of Australia.
I once possessed a thousand pounds.
Thinks I—how very grand it sounds
For a man to be farming his own grounds
In the beautiful land of Australia.
Illawarra, Mittagong,
Parramatta, Wollongong.
If you wish to become an ourang-outang,
Then go to the bush of Australia.
Upon the voyage the ship was lost.
In wretched plight I reached the coast,
And was very nigh being made a roast,
By the savages of Australia.
And in the bush I lighted on
A fierce bushranger with his gun,
Who borrowed my garments, every one,
For himself in the bush of Australia.
Illawarra, Mittagong,
Parramatta, Wollongong.
If you wish to become an ourang-outang,
Then go to the bush of Australia.
Sydney town I reached at last,
And now, thinks I, all danger's past,
And I shall make my fortune fast
In this promising land of Australia.
I quickly went with cash in hand,
Upon the map I chose my land.
When I got there 'twas barren sand
In the beautiful land of Australia.
Illawarra, Mittagong,
Parramatta, Wollongong
If you wish to become an ourang-outang,
Then go to the bush of Australia.
Of sheep I got a famous lot.
Some died of hunger, some of rot,
For the devil a dropp of rain they got,
In this flourishing land of Australia.
My convict men were always drunk,
They kept me in a constant funk.
Says I to myself, as to bed I slunk,
How I wish I was out of Australia!
Booligal, Gobarralong,
Emu Flat and Jugiong.
If you wish to become an ourang-outang,
Then go to the bush of Australia.
Of ills, enough I've had you'll own.
And then at last, my woes to crown,
One night my log house was blown down
That settled us all in Australia
And now of home and all bereft,
The horrid spot I quickly left,
Making it over by deed of gift
To the savages of Australia.
Booligal, Gobarralong,
Emu Flat and Jugiong.
If you wish to become an ourang-outang,
Then go to the bush of Australia
I gladly worked my passage home,
And now to England back I've come,
Determined never more to roam,
At least, to the bush of Australia.
And stones upon the road I'll break,
And earn my seven bob a week,
Which is surely better than the freak
Of settling down in Australia.
Currabubula, Bogolong,
Ulladulla, Gerringong.
If you wouldn't become an ourang-outang,
Don't go to the bush of Australia.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Is That All There Is?
'Is this all there is too life? '
I over heard my husband say.
I worked and slaved my life away,
And worked for little pay.
Now I am retired, and working harder then, I ever did before.
Is this all there is?
I thought there would be so much more!
I am lucky if I'll live till I'm old,
All my friends I knew did not!
Is that what we had all worked our lives for,
And what is it we have got?
Cars' not paid for, the morgage still due,
Had to take a loan on the house,
For those braces for son Drew.
I am walking a bit much slower,
My legs and feet have pain.
How much longer do I have too work,
I was'nt looking at doing this again!
Retirement is not as our Fathers' knew,
When they retired, and sailed the oceans blue!
Mom and Dad got a ticket and traveled,
They enjoyed those Golden Years,
Only enjoyed and known by few!
Is this all there is?
Because I wanted to enjoy my end years with you,
I guess I'll make the best of what we've got,
You have me, and I'm blessed to have you!
poem by Linda Winchell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Admiration... For Those Who Work!
i have a deep admiration
for the common working people
of the world...
having lived among them,
worked and sweated with them,
i sing their struggle!
farmers toiling day and night,
nurses pulling double shifts.
factory workers doing time and again,
carpenters and masons building.
black and white and all colors,
working their lives by faith.
and immigrants, often called illegal,
(though no human beings are illegal!) ...
who come here and work for whatever wage,
trying to build a dream for their families.
let us not forget women,
too often underpaid and treated as less...
truckdrivers, and those who work the docks,
steel workers, cooks, and trash collectors...
all leave me in awe...
there are many who cant work,
these should always be taken care of.
but the ones that could work if they would work,
who can work, and wont...
well... i have a problem there!
i was taught to work as a child...
taught respect, dignity, and honesty...
and so i believe, and so i live...
in admiration for those who work!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All Worked Out
She's got it all worked out in her mind
And you're part of the plan
And you don't have the final word
She's got a long head start on your brain
And your heart is afraid
And you don't get to say you're thinking
Come on make it easy now
Come on make it easy on us all
Come on make it easy now or tears may fall
She's got it all worked out I'm afraid
And your time is arranged
And it's strange but you're feeling fine
She's got it all worked out I'm afraid
And your life is arranged
And it's strange but you're feeling fine
song performed by by Semisonic from Feeling Strangely Fine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All The Jobs I've Had Over The Years
I was always into sport
when I was at school
or doing impressions
and acting the fool.
Left at fifteen
unsure what to do
and as for a job
I hadn't a clue.
My Dad was a builder
so worked on site
grafted during the day
stayed out late at night.
When I got older
employed on the railway
laying down tracks
worked hard for my pay.
But got restless again
and ended up in a factory
but I hated every minute
it just wasn't for me.
So over the years
I've really moved around
cleaned windows for a living
been a gardener digging the ground.
Tried my hand at teaching
even went to university
dropped out halfway through
went back to the building industry.
Some people only ever have one job
but one's never been enough for me
what would be my ideal job now?
getting paid for writing poetry!
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Inasmuch As Ye Did It Not . . .
If Jesus came to London,
Came to London to-day,
He would not go to the West End,
He would come down our way;
He'd talk with the children dancing
To the organ out in the street,
And say he was their big Brother,
And give them something to eat.
He wouldn't go to the mansions
Where the charitable live;
He'd come to the tenement houses
Where we ain't got nothing to give.
He'd come so kind and so homely,
And treat us to beer and bread,
And tell us how we ought to behave;
And we'd try to mind what He said.
In the warm bright West End churches
They sing and preach and pray,
They call us 'Beloved brethren,'
But they do not act that way.
And when He came to the church door
He'd call out loud and free,
You stop that preaching and praying
And show what you've done for Me.'
Then they'd say, 'O Lord, we have given
To the poor both blankets and tracts,
And we've tried to make them sober,
And we've tried to teach them facts.
But they will sneak round to the drink-shop,
And pawn the blankets for beer,
And we find them very ungrateful,
But still we persevere.'
Then He would say, 'I told you
The time I was here before,
That you were all of you brothers,
All you that I suffered for.
I won't go into your churches,
I'll stop in the sun outside.
You bring out the men your brothers,
The men for whom I died!'
Out of our beastly lodgings,
From arches and doorways about,
They'd have to do as He told them,
They'd have to call us out.
Millions and millions and millions,
Thick and crawling like flies,
We should creep out to the sunshine
And not be afraid of His eyes.
He'd see what God's image looks like
When men have dealt with the same,
Wrinkled with work that is never done,
Swollen and dirty with shame.
He'd see on the children's forehead
The branded gutter-sign
That marks the girls to be harlots,
That dooms the boys to be swine.
Then He'd say, 'What's the good of churches
When these have nowhere to sleep?
And how can I hear you praying
When they are cursing so deep?
I gave My Blood and My Body
That they might have bread and wine,
And you have taken your share and theirs
Of these good gifts of mine!'
Then some of the rich would be sorry,
And all would be very scared,
And they'd say, 'But we never knew, Lord!'
And He'd say, 'You never cared!'
And some would be sick and shameful
Because they'd know that they knew,
And the best would say, 'We were wrong, Lord.
Now tell us what to do!'
I think He'd be sitting, likely,
For someone 'ud bring Him a chair,
With a common kid cuddled up on His knee
And the common sun on His hair;
And they'd be standing before Him,
And He'd say, 'You know that you knew.
Why haven't you worked for your brothers
The same as I worked for you?
'For since you're all of you brothers
It's clear as God's blessed sun
That each must work for the others,
Not thousands work for one.
And the ones that have lived bone-idle
If they want Me to hear them pray,
Let them go and work for their livings
The only honest way!
'I've got nothing new to tell you,
You know what I always said -
But you've built their bones into churches
And stolen their wine and bread;
You with My Name on your foreheads,
Liar, and traitor, and knave,
You have lived by the death of your brothers,
These whom I died to save!'
I wish He would come and say it;
Perhaps they'd believe it then,
And work like men for their livings
And let us work like men.
Brothers? They don't believe it,
The lie on their lips is red.
They'll never believe till He comes again,
Or till we rise from the dead!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bartending Days
I worked in a bar, to make fast money
The people were kind and often funny
I would make their drink, listen to their story
They sought my council, but I got the glory
Working there to get out of the past
I found nice people whose friendship would last
They never failed to compliment me
It was my abusive ex, I was trying to flee
My self esteem, I had lost it all
Because of a hateful man who liked to brawl
The tips were great, the people too
I was working with a wondeful crew
I worked that job, for many years
It was full of laughter, not any tears
They brought me back, from the dead
Got me out of the painful life, I lead
It's not bad being a bartender, when you don't drink
It kept me from going to see a shrink
I had to quit my job, because my mom got sick
And by her side was where I'd stick
I still smile when I remember those glory days
When I got paid to hear their praise
Their kind word would mend my soul
And I got away from him, that was my main goal!
poem by Donna Nimmo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Worst Hangover Ever
Ballroom scene, but the fire underneath.
Gonna eat you alive,
Gonna bring you to you're knees.
Went out drinking late last night,
I had a blast.
But now the morning light has come
and kicked my ass.
I've got the worst hangover ever
I'm crawling to the bathroom again
It hurts so bad that I'm never gonna drink again
And by my seventh shot I was invincible
I would have never thought I'd be this miserable
I've got the worst hangover ever
I'm rolling back and forth on the bed
I'm worked so bad that I'm never gonna drink again
Won't someone just kill me?
Let me out of my misery
I'm making deals with God
I'll do anything
Make it stop please!
Make it stop please!
Make it stop please!
Make it stop please!
I've got the worst hangover ever
I'm crawling to the bathroom again
It hurts so bad that I'm never gonna drink again
I'll probably never drink again
I may not ever drink again
At least not til next weekend
I'm never gonna drink again
song performed by by Offspring
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Twilight Alehouse
1971. released as b-side of I know what I like single, 1974.
Is it really true what theyre saying
Are you really sure theres nobody come for me
When Im walking home there is no-one
Once there was a house, full of laughter - so warm
Trying to pretend there is someone
Someone who will care when I need it
I will now receive my comfort, conjured by the magic power of wine
Just a drink, Ill get that drink, and Im feeling good
Just a drink, Ill get that drink, and Im feeling fine
Just a drink to take my sorrow
Just a drink and you can blast tomorrow
Just a drink to make me feel like a man again
Now Im down
When I walk outside, there is nowhere
Children follow me, with their laughter - so cold...
Casting just a glance at the churchyard
Casting just a glance, at my painted female friend.
Now Im on my way, I am falling
Got to find some elp, ooh I will need that now
So I will receive my comfort, conjured by the magic power of wine
Just a drink, Ill get that drink, and Im feeling good
Just a drink, Ill get that drink, and Im feeling fine
Just a drink to take my sorrow
Just a drink and you can blast tomorrow
Just a drink to make me feel like a man again
Now Im down...
I will now receive my comfort, conjured by the magic power of wine
Just a drink, Ill get that drink, and Im feeling good
Just a drink, Ill get that drink, and Im feeling fine
Just a drink to take my sorrow
Just a drink and you can blast tomorrow, now...
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Next Position Please
Words and music by rick nielsen
People all over the world
They get up they get down
They get in they get out
They get pushed, they go back
Start all over again
Till they get to the end
Im from a small town
Had a poor family
Mama was sick, papa worked the factory
I led a rich life
Never had to work hard
House in the country
Horses in my backyard
Next position please
Do I have to get down on my knees
Next position please
Im in a hurry, so hurry please
Read between the lines
Learn a new message
Read the latest book
Its a new twist
Be the first one to have a new ideal
Youll never get bored with mirrors on the ceiling
Next position please
Do I have to get down on my knees
Next position please
Im in a hurry, so hurry please
People all over the world
They get up they get down
They get in they get out
They get pushed, they go back
Start all over again
Till they get to the end
I wanna move up within the company
I can do better with an opportunity
Why dont they use me instead of abuse me?
Im ten out of ten, not some whore in some movie
I wanna be the biggest gun in the world
I wanna see the tits on every girl
Next position please
You have to get down on your knees
Next position please
Im in a hurry, so hurry please
(repeat to coda)
song performed by by Cheap Trick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Have A Drink On Me
Whiskey, gin and brandy
With a glass Im pretty handy
Im trying to walk a straight line
On sour mash and cheap wine
So join me for a drink boys
Were gonna make a big noise
So dont worry about tomorrow
Take it today
Forget about the cheque
Well get hell to pay
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Yeah
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
On me
Come on
Dizzy, drunk and fightin
On tequila white lightnin
My glass is getting shorter
On whiskey, ice and water
So come on and have a good time
And get blinded out of your mind
So dont worry about tomorrow
Take it today
Forget about the cheque
Well get hell to pay
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
On me
Get stoned
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Yeah
Have a drink on me
Come on
Oooh
Gonna roll around
Gonna hit the ground
Take another swing
Have another drink
Gonna drink it dry
Gonna get me high
Come on all the boys
Make a noise
Chorus
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Have a drink oooooooon me
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let's say I was a plumber, or I worked at a factory, I would download music, you feel what I'm saying?
quote by Obie Trice
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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