The job market

 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