We're the Noblesse of Burke's Peerage
Now Obliged to travel steerage
In the ship of State
With fellow travellers we hare...
The Daily Herald hates us
The Worker execrates us
They wouldn't take us in if we were dying in a ditch
A last resort we dare not try
With duty on our death so high
Oh no one wants the poor deserving rich!
It's the same the whole world over -
It's the rich who get the blame;
It's the poor that gets the pleasure
Is it not a crying shame?
While we rich must queue for taxis
How the poor man sneers at us
Riding on his workman's ticket
In his special workers' bus!
When his five day week is ended
The the poor man can relax,
But on Saturdays and Sundays
We must work to earn our tax.
It's the same the whole world over -
It's the rich who get the blame;
It's the poor that gets the pleasure
Is it not a crying shame?
While we rich will always tell you
That we can't afford one yet
All the poor, without exception
Have a television set!
See my eldest, down from Oxford,
Seeking work from yard to yard,
But the idle workers spurn him
Born with out a union card!
It's the same the whole world over -
It's the rich who get the blame;
It's the poor that gets the pleasure
Is it not a crying shame?
In the gilded picture palace
Sits the poor man at his ease,
While we rich, in squalid night clubs
Cringe in fear of the Police!
We congratulate the poor
Now they're socially secure;
But there are other classes
Besides the Masses.
It's the same the whole world over
It's the well-to-do who incur all the odium
While the indigent reap all the benefits
Don't you consider that this is an intolerable discrimination?
Now Obliged to travel steerage
In the ship of State
With fellow travellers we hare...
The Daily Herald hates us
The Worker execrates us
They wouldn't take us in if we were dying in a ditch
A last resort we dare not try
With duty on our death so high
Oh no one wants the poor deserving rich!
It's the same the whole world over -
It's the rich who get the blame;
It's the poor that gets the pleasure
Is it not a crying shame?
While we rich must queue for taxis
How the poor man sneers at us
Riding on his workman's ticket
In his special workers' bus!
When his five day week is ended
The the poor man can relax,
But on Saturdays and Sundays
We must work to earn our tax.
It's the same the whole world over -
It's the rich who get the blame;
It's the poor that gets the pleasure
Is it not a crying shame?
While we rich will always tell you
That we can't afford one yet
All the poor, without exception
Have a television set!
See my eldest, down from Oxford,
Seeking work from yard to yard,
But the idle workers spurn him
Born with out a union card!
It's the same the whole world over -
It's the rich who get the blame;
It's the poor that gets the pleasure
Is it not a crying shame?
In the gilded picture palace
Sits the poor man at his ease,
While we rich, in squalid night clubs
Cringe in fear of the Police!
We congratulate the poor
Now they're socially secure;
But there are other classes
Besides the Masses.
It's the same the whole world over
It's the well-to-do who incur all the odium
While the indigent reap all the benefits
Don't you consider that this is an intolerable discrimination?
envoyé par Bernart - 19/7/2013 - 11:47
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Scritta da Michael Flanders (1922–1975) e Donald Swann (1923-1994).
Canzone mai pubblicata su disco.
Testo trovato sul sito dedicato agli autori
Flanders & Swann