Work Equals Death

Smells like power But tastes like chicken Administrative duties Make my pulse quicken Let’s hear it for the Boss! The greedy old troll… Skeletal hands clutching You will learn your role! A street urchin’s tuppence You earn for your toils… Like shining Boss’s shoes And lancing his boils Your life is at an end You know it’s just too late Upon your pauper’s grave The Boss’s kids will skate