paupers on the street

The will to be skilled is not general

Said Ford who exploited his workers

I am not a maker

I’m a victim

I would cry

If it wasn‘t for the paupers on the street

You can‘t unionize the kids

But you can unionize adults

They complain about the fees

And the wages, and their jobs

So you send a bunch of emails

From your phone

They don‘t reply

You grow bitter and resentful

It‘s their fault they can‘t have wealth

And the kids still pay the price

And the parents and their friends

You want freedom, but no land

You want property, not peace

but who will take the lead

when we are chilling on our phones?

How to get more out of workers

Output, not poems, not verses

an ill-paid life of boozing

grants a torturable mind

and the drugs are just emotional cement

They will massacre you back into the markets

an unfair, but inevitable triumph

and your newest gaming console

Is a mild alleviation

From the poverty regarded as your destiny

From historically unwanted

Proletarian demographics

we are mobilzing captive kids at school

until they smoke

We should not forget these worlds

You could go outside and cry

if it wasn’t for the paupers on the street