| Day after day fingers to the bone
|
| To earn another pound, to pay another loan
|
| Face to the grindstone, neck on the line
|
| Killing himself, just to pass time
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| Hour after hour, watching the clock
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| Grafting hard with his head on the block
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| Loyal to the end, the old school way
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| But it counts for nothing nowadays
|
| We’ll all look back in the future
|
| At where it all went wrong
|
| We’ll all sit around arguing
|
| About people now long gone
|
| We’ll all have the answers over a pint
|
| And opinions to debate
|
| But there’s not a lot of point in talking about it
|
| By then it will be too late
|
| They closed down the factory it’s cheaper abroad
|
| Fat cats paid so they couldn’t afford
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| To put food on the table of the family man
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| Forty years service, no pension plan
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| His life’s on hold, his shattered dreams
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| Empty thoughts and what might have beens
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| No money, no future, no work, no hope
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| No chance to think, he just couldn’t cope
|
| We’ll all look back in the future
|
| At where it all went wrong
|
| We’ll all sit around arguing
|
| About people now long gone
|
| We’ll all have the answers over a pint
|
| And opinions to debate
|
| But there’s not a lot of point in talking about it
|
| By then it will be too late
|
| Tomorrow will be too late
|
| To be waiting at the factory gate
|
| Said we’ll all look back in the future
|
| At where it all went wrong
|
| We’ll all sit around arguing
|
| About people now long gone
|
| We’ll all have the answers over a pint
|
| And opinions to debate
|
| But there’s not a lot of point in talking about it
|
| By then it will be too late |