What’s the meaning of these,
The rush hour drive,
The toil and strife
From nine to five?
Who are you trying to please?
What is it that you want?
A hearty praise?
A hefty raise?
Or a heady gaze
From your sassy confidante?
Is the pay cheque your sole reason,
Until your pensionable season,
To put up with the smacks in the chops,
The gossipers’ cheek to yawp,
And the blame for your bosses’ flops?
If you’re toiling deep in a daze
Like a boat adrift without jibs and stays,
You might as well have idly lazed
For if you see no point for the ladder,
Will climbing it make you any gladder?
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