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By: garrycroft







My working life restricts enjoyment

How I long for unemployment

My job obstructs the joy of life

Rebellion inside me cuts like a knife.


Don’t want you to think that I’m ungrateful

Fortunate to work, I know it’s distasteful

To crave a life where I am free

Spend all day writing poetry.


Carry on working till I’m sixty eight

By then I’ll be dead, lying in a crate

I’d rather end work at fifty five

On a positive note, I’d still be alive.


Happy growing old, I feel I’ve done my bit

Grab pension whist I can(they may abolish it)

Refuse to wait till the watershed

To get lump sum in a hospital bed.


All that money I put in the pot

Won’t see a penny, wife sees alot

Happy that family are secure for money

One drawback I’m up the swannee.


I wouldn’t need much to keep me goin’

How much does it cost to write a poem?

I’ll buy my clothes from a second-hand store

After I’ve been busking and not before.


Stay at home ironing, or washing my clothes

You’ll never find me watching tv shows

Crossword, sodoku, practice my sitar

Adept I’ll become like Ravi Skankar.


Buy cheap tickets on a national train

Butties are perfect to sustain

Cup of cappuccino is my biggest treat

Zinged off my tits in search of something sweet.


One Indian curry a week is fine

Camping in the Lakes at holiday time

I’ll buy no pricey ready-cooked meal

Veggie stew for balls of steel.


I’d rather be a pauper with heart beating strong

Than rich and shortly to be buried in the ground

I fly in the face of society’s norms

Stuff work… I want… freedom in all forms.









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