From The Boardroom Table.
Thanks for your two percent, which I’ll gladly take,
Your two bits worth I cannot afford to forsake,
A crumb of comfort rather than a slice of the rich cake,
This grateful fulsome smile I genuinely couldn’t fake.
There’s one feeling this poor blue-collar worker can’t shake;
Its that the bottom tier see sod-all profit in what we make.
Your gift hands us an empty feeling and a growling stomach ache
Plus your handful of cut-price excuses, but not an even break,
My bitterness over this pay round my Bitter cannot slake,
As Upstairs rowdily celebrate, Downstairs retains the air of a wake.