Working Man

He is not a philosopher, he is not a poet And he is not a man of note And though he yearns for wealth and fame There's many like him feel the same. The job he work at has no trade And as a labourer he is paid And though his is a menial job He owes not any one a bob. He wake at five thirty each day And to pick up spot he makes his way An hour's drive in the old work van Such is the lot of labouring man He lives a good and decent life And he doesn't go home and beat his wife But honest man 'twould seem to me Remains at base of social tree. He work and live from day to day And Government tax deducted from his pay And he help the Country in no small way Still working man doesn't have a say.