When I were five, I started the system.
Five days a week, for a bunch o’times tables.
I ‘ave a go now, but can’t even list ’em:
Got no use to a guy fixin’ cables.
When I were eleven, knew it weren’t over.
Nine ’till three fifteen, each bloody day.
Spent my last few years hungover,
‘N when I was done, couldn’t wait to be away.
When I were sixteen, didn’t get better.
Got some gig with a mate o’ me dad.
Nine ’till face, said ‘at written letter…
But at least I weren’t no undergrad.
When they were eighteen, they left home.
‘Ad to leave to make their millions,
‘At’s what they said, as they got their loan.
Nine thousand a year? Cost ’em billions.
When they was twenty-five, they worked
For minimum wage, not twenty pound an hour.
They was ‘ungry, tired and overworked,
Ain’t nothing quite so sour.
When we was fifty, we was broke.
They got them jobs with their qualifications,
But them loans? What a joke.
Nobody’s fault! ‘Cept this damn nation’s.