I’m a working class bloke with a working class wife
I’m poor but they tell me “At least you’re white,
though you’re gonna be working for the rest of yer life,
by the grace of the great bloke god, she’ll be right”.
At sixty-five, they used to retire workers like me,
Now the bosses bleed us till we’re worn out and drop,
We’ll get ours in heaven, a pension we’ll never see
and the toffs whoop it up and scoff the lot.
Sleazy Scummo’s in clover, doing us over,
“No pasaran”, we cry, defying our fates
while we hold picket lines, sisters and brothers,
he mainlines to god, filling pockets of mates.
“Be your own revolution”, scream greedy bourgeoisie,
Yet we workers win over wankers in solidarity.
Jinjirrie, January 2021