Working class!

Working class!

What working class?

The one that works itself to death

To bring upon your household steps

The meal you so desire

The fruits of which they‘ll never taste

The tip you placed; thy loving grace

You pay to never shake their hand

The deal you both require

They reek of what you choose to be

The wrecking toil and misery

You look away, for not to see

Is better than to cry

You wash yourself of any blame

Behind the curtain lurks a force

And when the the tables come to turn

The screams go down the drain