Work Poem by jack frost

Work is the curse of the working class
The rich just bide their time
Work gives riches to all but me
The rich just get by fine

Work is the cures of the working class
The ratio is not clear
The rich get most of all that’s earnt
The worker just little I fear

The worker is not a happy soul
The rich sit back in glee
And if he gets but half a chance
they’ll take everything from me

If I get rich I would like to think
That wealth I would want to share
But something tells me when you’re rich
You never seem to care

So all I ask is half a chance
To prove that theory wrong
Give me half a million quid
And see how I get along

No’ give me two’ no give me three
Sod it give me four
Just look what happens when you’re rich
You’re always wanting more

So maybe work will keep me down
My feet firm on the floor
I have my wife my health my kids
Who could ask for more.