The Welfare Accommodation Blues Poem by Peter Strugnell

It's a hard place, and I can see no way out
the kids in the corridor, they scream and they shout
the walls and ceiling are thin, below and above
you can hear the neighbours, when they're making love

we're three to a room, and that's no joke
why is it that, I'm alway's flat broke
opposite you'll find, there's a wife beater
three doors down, is the remedial offender


they dealt the wrong cards, forgot to shuffle the pack
from the cradle to the grave, in the poverty trap
was it my destiny, am I born to lose
yes I've got the, the welfare accommodation blues

don't know how it came to this, came to be so low
I'm the constant drip, in life's overflow
I'm still waiting for, for my ship to come in
the future? well, I only know where I've been

born to a violent father, and a drunk for a mother
i brought up both of them, my sister and my brother
responsibility I tell yer, I knew from a very young age
I lived with the bottle, and my father's rage

It's easy to enter, but difficult to leave
yes a condemned man, is written on my sleeve
we see no politicians here, on the election trail
I see the addict, the alcoholic, and those that fail