A Poem For The Working Class

Poor we was. We never knew no different because everyone I knew had ferk all

Were we happy though?

No we were starving.

White privilege. What?

Couldn't care less about middle class group think now. Feck off.


The norm was hand me downs.

My grandfather was a decorated WW2 WAR HERO.

Miner. Worked like a Trojan. My gran said he was first guy to earn over 1k for a years work.

What a man.

I work 9 until 9 but still make make time for this rhyme
They work me and work me, don't say my life is benign.
It's hard work, I work till the blisters make blister
All because I don't want u
Banging other Mr
lots of love, the working class hero
xx

I work 9 until 9 but still make make time for this rhyme
They work me and work me, don't say my life is benign.
It's hard work my love!, I work till the blisters make blister
All because I don't want u
Banging other Mr!
lots of love, the working class hero
xx

I wanted to edit my poem