There Must Be An Easier Way
To earn one's living there must be an easier way
Than working in a menial job for menial pay
You age so fast your hair prematurely gray
And you must work hard till your retirement day.
When you ask the boss for a raise his answer no
For a raise in pay you must have more to show
The unemployed are many and the jobs are few
And there's plenty more to do the job you do.
At 5.30 a m each work day from bed I rise
Before daylight has lit the morning skies
Then long drive to work in smoky old work van
Such is the lot of the common working man.
The chap next door seems better off than I
He does not work yet life he does enjoy
Whilst I'm at work he rest at home in bed
And he doesn't look deprived or underfed
With six year old son and a non working wife
He live an easy and a stress free life
And I've heard it said that he's never worked a day
But good luck to him is all that I can say.
I do not receive or seek sympathy
For there are many far worse off than me
But living life would be a lot more fun
If I did not have to rise before the sun
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Have You Ever Wished
Have you ever wished your luck would turn your life crosses so heavy to bear
Your financial woes keep increasing yet you know your type are not rare
With a wife and two young children to support and a huge mortgage on your home to pay
You have to work hard for a living and for you never an easy day
You wake in the dark of the morning and board the bus for your workplace
You work sixty hours a week monday to friday the weariness showing on your tired face
On you life has never been easy but hope from you it has not gone
You look to a financially better and a happier future and to that you keep working on
You've asked the boss for a raise in wages but his answer to you was no
For ten years you have worked hard for his company but for your effort financially wise you don't have much to show
You have applied for jobs to other companies but jobs are not easy to find
The job you work in you must stick at though to work there you do not feel inclined
The quotation from Shaw 'Life's not meant to be easy' to you surely has to apply
And you know of the survival battle of that you none can deny.
poem by Francis Duggan
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All Day
Well Im hiding my eyes from the morning sun
And I keep on working till the work is all done
But a voice in my head keeps ticking away
As the sweats hosed down from yet another day
Well he works hard
And he lives hard
And he breaks his back without nothing to gain
While the boss man sits around and drinks champagne
All day (you work and you work and you work and)
In life, theres just one transition
All day (you work and you work and you work and)
In life, theres just one decision
Well Im peeling the blisters off my working hand
Is that what it takes to make you understand?
That its something you read, not something you meant
To be slaving away without a shred of integrity
He worked hard
And he lived hard
And he broke his back without nothing to say
While the man in control was just laughing away
All day (you work and you work and you work and)
In life, theres just one transition
All day (you work and you work and you work and)
In life, theres just one decision
Was it something you read?
Was it something you meant?
Was it something you said?
Or was it heaven sent?
All day (you work and you work and you work and)
In life, theres just one transition
All day (you work and you work and you work and)
In life, theres just one decision
song performed by by Ministry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Pack Of Lies
That from hard work and endeavour up the social rank you will rise
To me anyhow does seem a pack of lies
'Tis just an old cliche that and nothing more
That some like to quote and we have heard before.
Even in so called prosperous Countries today
Some of the hardest working people work for survival pay
Many honest and willing workers living in poverty
Life for them seems unfair that's how 'twould seem to me.
Many of who on the theory of hard work believe
Say if you do not work hard from life you cannot receive
Yet many of the billionaires of mining and property development and oil
Have never experienced the hardship of toil.
Just an antiquated cliche it does seem indeed
That those who work hardest in life do succeed
The underpaid workers create many a billionaire
For millions around the World life does seem unfair.
I know of an old bloke who has worked hard in his working life
And he struggled for to pay for the funeral of his wife
Just one more poor hard worker his type are everywhere
There are millions of them in the big World out there.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Bosses
Ted Jones our supervisor a quiet bloke he doesn't have much to say
But he makes sure we do our work or so 'twould seem that way
For he's often with our foreman Tim and on us they keep an eye
The word from them if you keep working the time so quickly fly.
I work because I have to work though work I don't enjoy
And it's never easy cutting branches when you are way up high
It's scary on cherry picker bucket when you look towards the ground
But we must keep on working on with Tim and Ted around.
Ted to me seems a gentle sort but the system's got to him
And then of course I never could see eye to eye with Tim
For if you dare complain to Tim he'll tell you where to go to
He'll say there's plenty out of work and better men than you.
I'm slave to Southern Travel Towers of trimming trees constantly
And living stress and repetitive work has made an old man of me
And the Company Directors have Ted and Tim to make sure I earn my pay
You start from the work yard every morning and finish there each day.
If Ted Jones had his own way the job would be okay
At least he doesn't keep watching us like Tim does every day
But Tim more than makes up for him and Ted now must feel sure
That with Southern Travel Towers leading hand in charge his job must be secure.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Must Work To Make Ends Meet
Have you ever felt so tired as you struggle out of bed
And switch off the alarm clock with a throbbing in your head
At five thirty in the morning as dawn's lamp brighten the sky
And the fluting of the butcherbird to you is not a thing of joy.
And your wife she is still sleeping on the bed snoring she lay
You must make your own breakfast at five thirty a m of the new day
And as you leave for work at six thirty the children are asleep
But to work to keep your wife and family is a duty you must keep.
Your boss drives a new Mercedes which he need not share with his wife
He's just bought her a new B M W such are the ways of life
You work so hard for that man for what would seem as average pay
And you must drive in your old mid eighties Datsun to and from the work yard every day.
And when you ask your boss for a raise to you he always say
More young men come to me almost begging for a job start every day
You can forget a raise in wages and if you decide to quit that is okay
I won't even ask you for to stay on if working for me you don't wish to stay.
You do not like the man you work for he does not pay you nearly enough
Though you have just got to hang in there even though the going is tough
But you must work just to make ends meet you have got big bills to pay
And you drive your old eighties Datsun to and from the work yard every day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Lap Of Luxury
I work all day and I work all night 4x
I work all day and I work all night
I work so my wife and kids will have a pleasant life
I work as many jobs as I can
Im proud to work I guess Im just a working man
-who am I to complain
I live in the lap of luxury
I got a car and a big tv thats so fine
I go to the pictures when I can
-the pictures take me to far-away lands
-almost makes me forget who I am
Sometimes at work Ive a fantasy
That Im a man who livesa life of mystery
(but) then the whistle brings me to
I cant forget why Im here, Ive got a job to do
-responsibility- is much more important to a man like me
I work all day and I work all night
I work all day and I work all night - etc. etc.
Guitar solo
I got a job at the factory
But I dont mind cause I know that the job is right for me
I dont complain Im satisfied
And I dont care to rub elbows with the wealthy
Theyve got their problems too, I dont envy them a bit dont ya know
Im doin what I want and it aint so bas
Ive got everything that a man could have
(Im) living in the lap of luxury - living in the lap of luxury
Work all day and I work all night
I work all day and I work all night etc. etc.
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Workers Of America
good work...
hard work that you're
respected for, compensated
fairly for.....
no work is menial!
the man who picks up
and hauls your trash,
just as important,
just as worthy,
as the banker or businessman!
picking fruit, working in hospitals,
working on machines...
all needed!
all work done well,
is poetry in itself!
do your job!
hold your head up!
and employers,
pay your people well!
the workers of America,
the backbone of freedom!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lovingly Do The Work
Work is
Life...
Life is work...
Any work is not
Wrong...
Without work is
Worng...
Human every budy works
Wny way too work...s
Work is making you...
Work is given good life
For you...and your's...
So...
Understand too work
Earn money too work...
Live life with your work...
Love too work...
Learn to do the work...
Lovingely do the work...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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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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Out Of Work
8 a.m. Im up and my feet beating on the sidewalk
Down at the unemployment agency, all I get is talk
I check the want ads but there just aint nobody hiring
Whats a man supposed to do when hes down and hes
Out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
Im unemployed, Im out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
I go to pick my girl up
Her name is linda brown
Her dad invites me in
He tells me to sit down
The small talk that were making
Is going pretty smooth
But then he drops a bomb
Son, what dya do ?
Im out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
Im unemployed, Im out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
Hey mr president I know you got your plans
Youre doing all you can now to aid the little man
We got to do our best to whip that inflation down
Maybe you got a job for me just driving you around
Im out of work
These hard times, theyre enough
To make a man lose his mind
Im out of work
Up there you got a job but down here below
Im out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
Im unemployed, Im out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There Is More To Life Than Hard Work
I can't say my life's been a great life that I've been there and I've done that
But I worked in pipe laying crew for Michael Kelleher in Buninyong near Ballarat
And I worked in the late eighties for a firm called C.D.L.
Jack hammering in the heat of Summer when the days were hot as hell.
101 Collins Street Melbourne I remember that address
Not that I enjoyed the work there I remember none the less
Up each morning at five thirty then to work on tram I'd go
And left that building site each evening covered in dust head to toe.
Another four years as tree clearer up by powerlines clearing trees
Operating a cherry picker for such you don't need degrees
For a Travel tower company a growing concern managed by a greedy lot
They still owe me two weeks wages something I have not forgot.
Up working mornings at five thirty between work and travel a twelve hour day
Whilst my so called bosses made their millions I took home bare living pay
Now I take it nice and easy and I'm well off now as I was then
If your bosses make their millions for you there can't be a win
I worked as tree feller in Ireland far away and long ago
In the high woods by the mountains where the peaks wear hats of snow
Most Winter days were wet and chilly up to April not much sunshine
Only sound the cold wind soughing in the larch and spruce and pine.
'Hard work never did anybody harm' to coin that phrase it took a fool
Hard work your life's bound to shorten you can overwork a mule
Hard working Joe is dead at fifty, Pete on welfare living on
Pete five years older and quite healthy he's still here and Joe is gone.
Maybe I've drudged for a few years but I'm not proud of that at all
And if my life has got one highlight such as now I can't recall
And if one tell me how hard he work I tell him my watch is slow
And I'm late for an appointment 'see you later got to go'.
'Ned the basher' at his local like to sing his praises loud
And boast of the hard work he's done to an uninterested crowd,
He's proud to show his work callouses he must have an empty life
But he never once did mention how he often beats his wife
There is more to life than hard work, work to live but not to die
And if you labour hard poor fellow life you never can enjoy
If your boss is making millions and you take home bare living pay
Maybe you should have a re-think and perhaps give the job away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Renda Writer - Cubicle Cages
Work to live or live to work
For better or for worse
Most of us put work first
But what hurts worse
Is the world was built by blue shirts
But white shirts get respect first
It should be vice verse in the network
What's your net worth?
Evenly disperse
The paychecks and the perks
Who ever gets first
Is whoever knows how the network
And the experts
Do less work
While the rest work
Til' their heads hurt
Excessive stress and work
Is situation red alert
We're working for oppressive jerks
'Til our backs and our necks hurt
Interview is the first date
First impression
Flirt
Fired from a line of work
Surrounded by spineless lying jerks
Frowns surrounded by smirks
But now I'm outta work
Working hard or hardly working
This is hard
Cause not working hardly works
And it's hurting
Looking for a job in a city where jobs hide
All time jobless high
National debt is colossal sized
A need to eat and stay alive
Collides with human pride
War is prophesized
Even the prophets lie
And still jobs hide
Behind curtains of diversions
I'm nervous
Working on the side
Haven't found a job so far
Only found the sound of jinglin' change
Inside of an empty pocket
Listen close for the hot stock tip
Just to get to the top quick
And that's it
Now get back in your cage
poem by Renda Writer
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Four Letter 'Work' Song
Work me up, work me out, work me flip side down.
Work me here, work me there, work me with renown.
Work me hot, work me greedy,
work me through and through.
Work me to the very marrow,
work me just like I'd work you.
Work me proud, work me late,
work me do not hesitate.
Won't you let me work for you?
Work me til I'm black and blue.
Work me steady, work me needy, work me to a lather.
Work me til my backbone breaks, and the buzzards gather.
Work me in, work me under, work me til I bleed,
Work me over red hot coals, work me like a boss in need.
Work me nasty, work me silly, work me through the clover.
Up down, 'n' in between, into a slipknot sweet Jehovah.
Work me, work me, go ahead.
Work me, work me, til I'm dead.
Buddy Bee Anthony
poem by Buddy Bee Anthony
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Not All Things In Life
Not all things in life goes to plan
But you can only do the best you can
Lady luck has not been on your side
By her you are always denied
You work hard for your take home pay
And with your kids in the park play
You honour and you love your wife
And you lead a good and a moral life
Though your boss your work for him does praise
He knocked back your request for a raise
Yet you are not one to complain
And loyal to your boss you remain
You clock in on time every day
And you always work hard for your pay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Zephyr Hart
If you want your car repaired or want to fit an engine part
It well might pay you to ring Zephyr Hart
He's not hard to pay and is good at what he do
And he will be quite happy to help you.
Come rain or shine you will find him working hard
In his work shop a tin shed in his back yard
Working on engines and repairing brakes and punctured tyres
The work he does great character requires.
My datsun it is showing it's years in wear
And has rust spots on the body here and there
But despite all this the old car still survive
And it's thanks to Zephyr that it's still fit to drive.
In a mechanic's life there's lots of heavy toil
His hands and work clothes stained with grease and oil
It's not the type of work that many would enjoy
And there's easier ways to earn one's living by.
And though in the Yarra Ranges motor mechanics are not rare
And there's cars aplenty for them to repair
But for a car tune up or to fit an engine part
At a most competitive price your best bet Zephyr Hart.
poem by Francis Duggan
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You Ask Me About It
You ask me about it I have wondered why
So many never know of material success though hard they do try
They work hard and grow old and fade out and die
Is the theory of hard work based on success something based on a lie.
The prime years of life quickly do tick away
They work hard to raise their children then grow old and gray
The woman on average by a few years does outlive her man
Three score and ten years the average human life span.
So many work hard just for survival pay
And the gap between the haves and have nots gets wider every day
And so many hungry for each millionaire
It is a rat race in the big World out there.
You ask me why some people struggle through life
The poor working man and his poor working wife
On their meagre incomes their family must survive
On the sweat of the workers the bosses do thrive.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Shearers Work Hard
The shearers work hard for a living for them never an easy pay
In shearing sheds in the warm weather they work through the heat of the day
At the end of a long shearing Season their backs from constant bending do ache
They work in the evening till nightfall they start shortly after daybreak
The shearers are children of shearers the trade one might say handed down
They enjoy their beer at the weekend in the pub of the nearest bush town
They do seem to enjoy the hard life we make our life choices some say
From shearing shed to shearing shed in the big Country from home they work quite a long way
Some daughters of shearers become shearers one might say they've got shearing in the blood
But it must be a hard way for a woman for to have to earn a livelihood
Yet top women shearers are good at shearing for their shearing feats they are well known
Even with the best of the male shearers they have been known to hold their own
The shearers work hard for a living for them never an easy pay
In the shearing shed they feel hot and sweaty in the sunshine of a humid day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Work, Sleep, Work, Sleep, Work
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work:
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work.
Oh free me please with gentle ease
From work, sleep, work, sleep, work!
This odium, pounding tedium
Of my work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
Just whisk me off to lands afar
From work, sleep, work, sleep, work -
That grinding train of rhythmic pain
Called ‘Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.’
Poor neural circuits fizzle and pop
In work, sleep, work, sleep, work,
In trying to make some sense of all this
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
But Hark! I see a golden gleam -
A saving spirit of hope:
‘You’re fired! ’ He screams. What news to bear,
This wondrous hangman’s rope!
So now I’m free, released from all this
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work -
Eternal peace and rest for me, no
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Payment
A tortuous path of neurons arced a call: ‘Awake! ’
I did; in rising, peering, stretching, bearing,
Pained anticipation saw it all:
Foretold, another filthy day.
I drew the drape: diluvian lay the ground
Beneath a lazy leaden cloud – apissing out
The puddles; irksome on the roof –
The drumming drops of bitter glee
Were hounding out a hapless me –
Reinforcing doubt that I am sound.
I left the house
to go to work
to earn a crust
without a perk
then on to bust
another straining vessel.
Trudging on thro’ mud and clay, I pondered:
‘Why a drought of happy times?
Auspicious climes were
Old and fusty books
Atop a dusty shelf
Inside a morgue-of-a-room,
Somewhere in a long-forgotten library
Down a lane without a way.’
I thought again: ‘And still I pay.’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
O how I
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Complaint
Work never seems to end
day in-n-out working goes.
Please may I get a break some time
in the break, work seems to grow.
It is like the weeds I see
in the soil, they seem to grow.
How ever I may pluck them out;
they find there way again and sow.
Work-a-haloes is what my friend call me.
to them work is easy cake
But work in-n-out like me
and you’ll be a hockey stick.
Work-n-work-n-work I see
even work in everyday chores.
Oh! This work never seems to end
with me it also grows.
'17th June,2007'
poem by Gaurav Bhaduri
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