Bustin' My Chops

Why should I be bustin' my chops?

Sweating for somebody else'scrops

Where payment is grosslyunder-fair,

Where dignity reaches theedge and drops

Like a hammer crashing a paneof glass

In a World obsessed byposition and class.

 

A struggle as old asprimordial man

Where strength and aggressionare played hand in hand

And survival had only twoclasses, it's said;

Divided between the quick andthe dead.

 

But these days it's moneythat seems to divide

Where the classes arestructured, how we decide

Who has worth, what hasmeaning, who gets the bone

With the meat neatly picked;who ends up alone.

Worshiping God on an altar ofgreen

As immortal worth becomesever so lean.

 

But truth is not fleeting.

Please, make yourself clear.

Our struggles are not alwaysas they appear.

The classes are self-made andself-imposed,

And nothing the freeheartedever need fear.

 

For happiness crosses allboundaries and classes.

Contentment survives andthrives with the masses.