Ode to the working man
He don’t sweep
The factory floor
Cause there ain’t
No factory anymore
Him and his tools
And what’s left of his pride
Still praise ol’ Glory
That waves by his side
They took his machine
Even the bolts in the floor
Said they were taking them
To a place off shore
Of all the nerve
They even said “please”
“Would you care to train
A group overseas”?
No not to worry
Said the coat and the tie
We’ll get you food stamps
To help you get by
Now if you need a doctor
You will just have to wait
Cause the whole darn thing
Is run by the state
The morning sun touches
His thinning gray hair
Him and his memories
Rock in a chair
No echo in silence
His epitaph read
Only sad songs to sing
The Working Man’s dead.