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.