Too Good To Be True
TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE
I’m giving up, can’t take no more, I’ve reached the final straw,
How do you find a flamin’ job when you’ve turned fifty-four,
I’ve knocked on nigh a thousand doors and trudged a million miles,
To find me name pushed into draws, in the unwanted files.
But with all me money run out, and me life stuck in a hole,
Me ego has to disappear, and I must sign up for the dole,
This is the worst day in me life, I’m embarrassed to the core,
Standing at a counter waiting for the bloke to hear me score.
I introduced meself and told him straight “I don’t want the dole,
I really want to find a job, and that’s me utmost goal,
I’m sick of handling regimes, then being told ‘so long!’
Mate I really, really want a job…‘sit down’ money is so wrong!”
“Well! Your timing is amazing” Said the fella with a grin,
“A job that might be right for you, has just been penciled in,
A wealthy bloke now wants a chauffeur, to drive his flashy car,
And you must be a bodyguard, for his nymphomanic daughter”.
“Clothing will all be supplied, and with long hours for this work
All your meals will be provided free…yes, there is another perk,
Three holidays upon the Gold Coast are provided every year,
And your salary will not be less, than two hundred grand a year”.
I must admit that I was silenced by the offer that he read,
But wary ‘bout his cushy job, so that is why I said,
"I think you’re talking garbage mate, and bull crapping quite a bit”.
Then he replied with just a nod. “Yeah, well you bloody started it!”
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