THAT
MYTHICAL OUNCE
If
they did it the way we wanted it
to
be done it would be okay but they
have
no clue which way is up
They
run their company like a dinner lady
running
a nineteen sixties school canteen
they're
full of hot air not quite up to full steam
Living
the dream off the back of the working men
and
women that graft for food and drink and a roof
over
their head if their lucky plucky perhaps
Waiting
for the right time to pounce
on
that mythical ounce of gold
that
we were told would be definitely could be ours
If
we keep our heads down and our noses clean
it's
like talking to a brick wall trying to get any sense
out
of them the entitled ones that think they rule
Of
course they do while we let them drive roughshod
over
us as we cower to their demands for lower pay
increased
productivity and a longer working day
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