Poor man, I work for the rich to earn myself; bread butter jam
The longest marathon, short life’s sojourn, car a must to run
The rat race begun; need the fat sum to repay my loan fast as I can
Toil hard ten to ten.
In the bargain become a shuttlecock, work hither to pay thither.
Money flows, from one rich to another
Via me, ‘The man on the run,’ position constant;
A privileged politburo none, nor a capitalist hangman;
My status unchanged many a look alike me, in between stand;
Exploited through ‘n’ through by a handful few.
The pillar to post run, up-to-date remain, Ping-Pong entertain-
Communists, capitalists gain, profit all the same;
The tug-of-war game.
Born riff-raff, it’s silly to complain.