I am the working class.
I know the fine flowers, enjoy your hands dirty, and comment in, and have a cup.
I know the confidence y’neightbour, I love the Yer family, take care of each other.
I know no illusions, no big delusions to each other.
I know the polar opposites of fascism heads of fascism, verses of diversity lovers.
Never judge a piercing book from its cover.
I know the pride of the retirees and the servants who have never been. He behaves as there is nothing in it.
I know “Know your roots”, “Fill YER shoes”, and “You have limits”.
I know hard hands, the way someone stands, and that life was harsh.
I know that nicotine stains, PUB-DERAINS, and Life’s Shortged-are very fair so that they cannot be ignored.
I know the social boundaries, the reality in that, and the place we take.
I know internal suspicion and inheritance, and the obstacles imposed by them we put them.
I Learn about riots, fires, anger, anger, “Never-Again”.
I know that despair, hope, never give up, a more final battle.
I know that the interconnection is not inherited from how the wealthy deals with the poor.
I know all these things, I have seen them all, and I know much more.
I am the working class. I know.
