Son of a Farmer

I might wash up fine now I might dress well now But I'll still be a son of a farmer Son of a laborer who has to work hard So forgive me if I don't fit in your class I came from grasses before riches And i learnt to be humble, not just the word For all what we had was enough for a simple life Cause their were many mouths to feed With an extra mouth after every 2 years Cause my siblings kept popping And we'd call it blessing till we had enough of that I might look so fine now But I can get my hands dirty Don't be fooled by my fine linen And I can put it all away and put on my rags Cause I don't want to soil this fine image So I put it aside as I get to work For I need to eat so I can't be petty And at the end of the day money's money It all looks the same and does the same So why would I be afraid of my roots Roots that fed me and made me this diverse And though I might be this great, I don't mind being son of a farmer The PO£T