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Who are you?



Who are you to tell me not to work an honest day?
Yourlife is expensive, and you moan but yet you pay;
 
You pay for leather jackets and you pay for heat and light.
You buy a house and pay for life; you treat it like a fight.
 
You pay to beat diseases and you pay to travel fast,
And you moan about the cost . . .  it was cheaper in the past.
 
You help to push the money in the opposite direction
And then you try to colour up your colourless complexion
 
With festivals and protests – you put stories on the news,
And then you go to clubs and dance for hours in my shoes.
 
Have a look. I made those shoes.  They really fit you well –
And then feel guilty that mine’s a life of hell.
 
But I am earning money so my kids can learn to letter.
And you say I shouldn't work ’cause you feel guilty in my sweater?
 
Really?

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