Working Class And Teachers

Working-class and Teachers I`m working-class and proud of it grew up in the damp shadows of fish factories we played in grimy streets the sun was the lamplight after six and always the persistent drizzle and mist. School was not much our teacher disliked us thought to teach us was a waste of time. By luck, by pluck and bloody stubbornness I got out saved by the sea breeze I had to be my own teacher who was stern but not arrogant. These half- baked teacher they didn`t know Cuba and the sand made in heaven, little bureaucrat thinking they were intellectuals I`m still working-class, but my interest is not the same It has broken down the wall of misery but The roots are with me I know where I came from