It's the job market
Take a job for life
Earn enough to have a wife
Take a job until your death
But you can't afford to take a breath
It's the job market
Don't give up the day job
Don't throw in the towel
Unless you want to bank rob
Or listen to the wolves outside your door howl
Take a job and stick it where the sun don't shine
In a factory, in a warehouse
In pit full of lime
And stand in line
in the dole queue wondering who is who
Am I you? Are you me? Are you you?
Cuckoo, cuckoo
Work all day and lose your soul
Work all night still don't feel whole
They take you away like a chinese roll
Place you in a pick and mix
Ready for the grabber
It's the job market
They make the rules we must all follow
But then they take the carpet away
But their words are hollow
And their bonds mean nothing
Despite your loyalty
If they can hire someone cheaper
Then boy you are free
Wave good bye
With a "generous" redundancy
In other words the pay out would be
Too large if you kept working til you're sixty
So they cut and run
The dirty sons of someone or other you see
It's the job market
They work you silly
They work you dry
They work you like a billy goat
They work you till you cry
No more, no more I need my rest
But the pay packet they say
Will cover the rest
You know times are hard
And the goings rough
And you might be a billiard
In game of blind man's bluff
But don't you shout shard
When you see the crucifix splint
They've been hanging you there
By a horse's hair and it's time you split
They work your nose to the grindstone
You clean your hand with spit
They haul you up and make you shake a bone
Then you pick with it in the pit
There could be two ways or there could be three
Of going about it this graveyard malady
But you better get smart kid
You better believe
There is no work of art hid
In the eve of the tree
In the job market
And the gallery is hanging you
In scenes from a crime
It's the last supper
And it's past closing time
And they need to work for man's soul
Because God does no work
And God knows he's in control
He's the creative manager who gives us over time
He can fire and hire us in our prime
But if want a good living you better get in his good books
There's a page or two devoted
To blacked out crooks
it's the job market
They are never coming back
To work on the shop floor
They'll be in the engine room
Stoking the flames of the poor
And wretched ones
Who deserve nothing more
Except if you believe in divine grace
In the Job market that's the place
I'm sure
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