Scraping Shovels

Shovels Scraping Standing quiet so as not, to cause a riot. Boots are heavy full of grit. Hair is matted and full of sweat. Muscles ache, with move they make Blister blood, mixed with mud to forms a horrid crud. When I signed I must have been blind. No amount of money could, make this job funny. Then a shout from the gaffer, come on you slackers. I can‘ t hear those shovels scraping. With a glance I smoke my tab. I‘ m sure its not me that’s been had. Working hard I am done, a breather has to come. But it wont be long before, ill sing my song. A jug of beer will be in hand, that I will stand, with money in my hand. As for my toils ill get my spoils, spend it with my friends. Then a shout from the gaffer, come on you lazy slackers. I can‘ t hear those shovels scraping.