He’s stuck with a working class mind
And grooves in the working class grind
And walks down the working class street
Where the mud sticks under his feet.
Always working to pay the rent
Or the interest on the mortgage lent
Living for the football game
So the weekend just grinds the same.
Then Monday comes around too soon
Five more days on the merry go round
Where boredom numbs his joyless mind
And the rhythm of life has no rhyme.
But Friday night is slowly on its way
And Celtic’s playing on Pay TV
A few pints will help him freeze his mind
And help sustain his working class grind.