I have done this reprise of the Mongrel Verse that I wrote last week. In this version, I go into the subconscious and sometimes toxic relationship between workers/subordinates and managers/leaders/masters
I think that sometimes the mutual distrust simmers below the surface, and sometimes finds disastrous expression. This happened, for instance, in the Suzuki factory in India, where the workers burnt a manager alive. So, I don’t think that I am that far off.
This version has alternating (except at the end) verses by the leaders and the workers.
Work, work, you little shit, work; Work on and on, and do not shirk. You need to work, and make me rich; Don’t argue either, you little bitch.
You make me work, so you can fly; With lots of money, and things to buy. Yet, you cut my pay – you cry and tell me, Profits are down, and I must believe thee.
I am your Lord, you are my slave; It’s my generosity that you must crave. To be inspired, learn from the ants; And realise it is I, who wears the pants.
I hear your words, from your honeyed mouth; We don’t believe you. Can you hear us shout? Behind glass doors, you wine and dine; Yet don’t realise that we can dim your shine.
We know you well, you will exploit us; Then o’er our bodies, you will roll a bus. But, we can strike and raise our voice, Will that leave you, with too much choice?
You need to work, to make me rich; And don’t complain, you little snitch. The government’s mine, you little dork; So, work and work, little shit, work.