Work Sucks
Well, I woke up this morning
For my own prime time,
Hoping swarming senses
Might light into rhyme,
With caffeine and nicotine
My morning jump start
I was searching for the union
Of my head and my heart.
But time won't linger
For a groggy old muse.
I had to get ready for my daily abuse.
Work sucks! Work sucks!
You sell your soul
For a couple of bucks.
In the place where they call me
A human resource
I'm nothing but another
Common work horse.
So I left my apartment
With a somber sigh.
The beergnats were kissing
All my empties goodbye.
I put on my mandatory
Worker's disguise
And abandoned my oasis
For the fluorescent skies.
I greeted my boss,
But what I wanted to say.
Was "Beat me with a hammer
And we'll call it a day."
Work sucks! Work sucks!
You sell your soul
For a couple of bucks.
If I didn't have habits
Such as hunger and thirst,
I wouldn't lift a finger
But the one by the first.
Up from rags to riches
By your own bootstrap
Only works for the folks
Who are the cream of the crap.
So, you self made believers
Of your own ballyhoo
Would you please refrain from telling me
I ought to be you.
I don't need money
Just to prove who I am;
And the prizes you would die for--
Well they ain't worth a damn.
Work sucks! Work sucks
You sell your soul
For a couple of bucks.
If my back can still hold up
While my boss gains success
I can still be rewarded
With a heart attack from stress.
We fought a great battle,
So our fearless leaders said,
To stop fascism
Before it could spread.
We fought another battle
Over equality--
Which never quite trickles
Down to you or me.
We fought our first battle
Over royalty's reign;
But everything we fought against
We fought to retain.
Work sucks! Work sucks!
You sell your soul
For a couple of bucks.
Now the fascists run our businesses
For royalty's gain;
And they call me a commie
If I dare to complain.
Now Paul, when interpreted
To sound like a jerk,
Said we shouldn't eat
If we didn't work;
But if Paul were present
In our present day,
He might change his opinion,
Seeing greed out for prey.
He might just remember
How work was a curse;
And I could finish my poem
Just ahead of the hearse.
Work sucks! Work sucks.
You trade your soul
For a couple of bucks.
If I make it up to heaven
And find Adam up there.
I'll hang him by his balls
And seek eternity elsewhere.
Copyright © Jerrell Jones | Year Posted 2015
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