Working John, Working Joe

When i was a young man (as all good tales begin)
i was taught to hold out my hand.
and for my pay i worked an honest day
and took what pittance i could win.
now i’m a working john and i’m a working joe
and i’m doing what i know
for god and the economy,
big brother watches over me
and the state protects and feeds me
and my conscience never leaves me
and i’m loyal to the unions
who protect me at all levels.
And as i grew, the winds of fortune blew
and the bank smiled down upon me.
and mortgaged to the hilt i threw
the breeze of caution behind me.
now i’m a working john and i’m a working joe
and i’m good at what i know
and god and the economy
have blessed me with equality.
now i’m equal to the best of you
and better than the rest of you,
who would criticise my success
in times of national unrest.
Now i own my horseless carriage
in its central-heated garage
and i commute eighty miles a day
up at seven to make it pay.
i direct ten limited companies
with seeming consummate expertise,
two ulcers and a heart disease
a trembling feeling in both knees.
i’m a working john and i’m a working joe
and i’m doing what i know
for god and the economy,
big brother watches over me
and the state protects and feeds me
and my conscience never leaves me
and i’m loyal to the unions
who protect me at all levels.
i’m a working john and i’m a working joe.