PENSION DAY
It’s Monday morning once again
My weekly pension day.
And when I get my eighty quid,
It’s spoke for straight away.
Electric, Gas and Council Tax,
Water, Food and Rent.
It’s no sooner in my pocket,
Then its out again and spent.
No luxury of fags or beer
And no holidays abroad.
A day at seaside every year
Is all I can afford.
I retired six years ago,
And my piggy banks gone bust.
The wolf is knocking at my door.
As I am down to my last crust.
So when next Monday comes along,
And I draw my weekly pension pay.
You can bet the vultures will be there,
To take it all away.
By
Alfred Weston
© Copyright Reserved 2003
It’s Monday morning once again
My weekly pension day.
And when I get my eighty quid,
It’s spoke for straight away.
Electric, Gas and Council Tax,
Water, Food and Rent.
It’s no sooner in my pocket,
Then its out again and spent.
No luxury of fags or beer
And no holidays abroad.
A day at seaside every year
Is all I can afford.
I retired six years ago,
And my piggy banks gone bust.
The wolf is knocking at my door.
As I am down to my last crust.
So when next Monday comes along,
And I draw my weekly pension pay.
You can bet the vultures will be there,
To take it all away.
By
Alfred Weston
© Copyright Reserved 2003
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