There are so many bills we have to pay,
there are so many things we need to buy;
it’s enough to turn the bluest sky gray,
I doubt we will save, so why even try?
We work at our game each day ‘round the clock,
up right at dawn and a slave to the grind;
hoping someday opportunity knocks,
swimming in orders and standing in lines.
It’s an endless fight, how do we complete
day after day and year after year?
We get home at night exhausted and beat,
wishing our bills would just disappear.
If tomorrow they ask what’s happened to me,
I’m taking a sick day, so don’t shake my tree.

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