| Now 'Man is born to trouble
|
| Sure as sparks to Heaven fly.'
|
| So said the man sat all alone
|
| In the corner of my eye.
|
| I said, 'Why the long face, why so sad?
|
| Things cannot be so bad!'
|
| He said, 'My aching bones tell of trouble on the road
|
| And you can’t make light of this load.'
|
| He said, 'You can’t make light of this load.'
|
| Now just don’t get me started on work, trust or money,
|
| There are not enough hours in the day.
|
| In a land where nothing works except the answering machines
|
| You have to watch what you say.
|
| All the high hopes of the Thatcher’s breed
|
| Lie crushed beneath some eighties creed.
|
| Well 'Moaning Minnies' we may be just don’t let us explode,
|
| You can’t make light of this load.'
|
| They say, 'You can’t make light of this load.'
|
| Seems that grumbling is a privilege, a pleasure and a pastime
|
| For those approaching 'middle rage.'
|
| 'The burden fits the back' they say, and I know I’ve got mine,
|
| Thank heavens for the minimum wage!
|
| 'Things can only get better' they cried,
|
| But over health and work and money they lied.
|
| Well their patron saint is Meldew and complaining is the mode.
|
| You can’t make light of this load.
|
| They say, 'You can’t make light of this load.'
|
| 'Oh don’t the days seem lank and long
|
| When all goes right and none goes wrong.'
|
| So avoid the sad old so-and-so with his sorry episode,
|
| Who can’t make light of his load, lads!
|
| Who can’t make light of his load. |