After Come to Milton Keynes by Paul Weller
Me and the rest of the company grunts, we
know for sure that we are being used
as fodder for the god of profit, doff the cap to
ownership, it seems we’re whipped to chase
targets and schemes instead of our dreams.
So, what are we supposed to do now?
We ghost-write, sit tight, we toil, we
recoil, we race, about-face, and we chase
our tails, benchmarks and sales while the
boss breathes fire like a petulant dragon.
Banging on about working down the mine
is fine, but it isn’t going to help us now, is
it? We’ve had it, we’re on our knees, the
worker bees and drones going round in semi-
circles, half-hearted, half-baked, smile faked with
Company presentation standards but also with the
realisation, the knowing that we need to get a union
going here, to get us off the rack, we’re not at all alright Jack
It’s time to put our thinking caps and picket armbands on.