The Working Crass

[Colin Combover in a ComaParticipant 5256]

Loud loutish lover from Liverpool
Oh Mother, smother him
The gangrenous fool

Proud brutish Brother from Hartlepool
Oh Father from another, admonish him
To be kind, is to be cruel

Lead them little Lambs
Tied by their hands

Lead them to the place
Where reason is aband

A hundred boxes an hour
Pallets sky high
There’s a scent of sour
As time shuffles by

Sitting on a wooden bench for lunch
Two pork pies and,
A packet of monster munch

Written etched into the table

“HERE MANY A WORKING CLASS SAT UNSTABLE”

Years have now passed
It would’ve been better to instead have been the shirking crass

A life on benefit street
Where human turds and those perturbed
Meet

[Author]

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