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
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