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.
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