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Well the factory is closing down
They say we workers cost to much
There's shops closing and nothing left downtown
Grew up here around these parts
Got laid down in Cutler's woods the first time
Now the factory is tearin out our hearts
Folks say find a better job but where does one go
When the factory closes and there's no one pays
Wasn't just the pay, but the pride in makin', but try tellin' that to someone that pride they'll never know
They say our jobs are for menial workers with no pride
Don't feel menial and I paid all my bills
I made do and from bill collectors I never had to hide
All that's changin' now nothing I can do
'cept work 3 jobs try and make the mortgage
And pray this pain doesn't next happen to you
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I just love people who use the excuse "I use/do this because I LOVE the feeling/joy/happiness it brings me" and expect you to be ok with that as you watch them destroy their life blindly following. My response is, "I like to put forks in an eletrical socket, just LOVE that feeling, can't ever get enough of it, so will you let me put this copper fork in that electric socket?"
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