Poor Mans Pound by The Nits Lyrics

A rich man's work always gets done
He spends his days out in the sun
Trusting the figures in the morning paper

Your sweat - the oil in his machine
You are the eyelid of his dreams
He knows his ten commandments:
Use your neighbours
Love their labour

The poor man's pound is all you get
No matter what you try, it's dead
You've learned to write your name
So sign these papers
Love your neighbours