Poor Working Slob

© Words and music by Ray Scudero. All rights reserved.

City streets are nearly silent, waiting for the day,
Bits of litter by the curbstone are dancing and blowing away.
The lamppost light is softly humming a sixty-cycle hymn,
And New York City starts its stirring, as the day begins.

First to awaken are hobos and winos, up with the cracking of dawn:
Rolling the bundles of old coats and cardboard, a scratch of the head and a yawn.
Then come the beggars, panhandlers and hustlers, off to appointed rounds!
Then come the workers, the brokers and lurkers in cars and in trains underground.

(Chorus:)
It’s another long day in the city, another hard day on the job,
So here’s to the bums and the brokers, and here’s to the poor working slob,
Yeah, here’s to the poor working slob.

Uptown and downtown, crisstown and crosstown, traffic is starting to roll,
Up escalators and down elevators, up ladders and down in a hole.
All honkin’ and wheezin’, shovin’ and squeezin’, off to a day on the job,
Buzzin’ and steamin’ and yellin’ and screamin’ the song of the Poor Working Slob.

It’s another long day in the city, another hard day on the job,
So here’s to the bums and the brokers, and here’s to the poor working slob,
Yeah, here’s to the poor working slob.

In suits of three pieces with cufflinks and creases, in offices plush glass and chrome,
All lipsticks and rouges, assistants and stooges equip the executive dome.
While squirrels and pigeons all peck at the smidgens of pizza and popcorn and crumbs,
In canyons and valleys of side streets and alleys from Wall Street on up to the slums.

It’s another long day in the city, another hard day on the job,
So here’s to the bums and the brokers, and here’s to the poor working slob,
Yeah, here’s to the poor working slob.

They go out in bunches, breaking for lunches—there’s bagels, falafel and fluff!
They buy up the sandwiches sold at some standwiches, packed! ’till they’ve all had enough.
Then it’s back to the grindstone mid sequins and rhinestones with tons of newspaper to read—
At five they all cans-it and flocks to mass transit, the last of a slow-dying breed.

It’s another long day in the city, another hard day on the job,
So here’s to the bums and the brokers, and here’s to the poor working slob,
Yeah, here’s to the poor working slob.

Now some people find that the old daily grind can be easy to deal with today.
If stress is a problem, get rid of that goblin; aerobics will chase it away!
Ah, there ain’t nothin’ cuter than an office computer, with switches and buttons and knobs!
But if cities disturb ya, then move to suburbia; commute with the rest of us slobs!

It’s another long day in the city, another hard day on the job,
So here’s to the bums and the brokers, and here’s to the poor working slob,
Yeah, here’s to the poor working slob.

(Repeat Chorus)




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