I was sittin’ in the bar one friday evenin’. Men were laughin’ at some young lad up the lane. They put a shotgun to his knees and no-one stopped to hear the plea’s, oh it’s so funny how they left him in the rain. And I asked them what they meant by anti-social, was he flooding the estates with low paid jobs? Did he make a million pounds knockin’ public housin’ down? and makin’ space for yuppy flats for smart arsed yobs.
but the place was standin’ still when I stopped talkin, and they looked at me as if I wasn’t well. And one said someone had to pay, there was a bookies robbed today. And we’ll all be middle class soon anyway.
(chorus) But I thought who are we to look down on these people who could see no other way to make it through. Than to fiddle what they could, from the so-called great and good. Oh if I just had their balls I’d do it too.
See I find it hard to take the double standards, to look down on the people doin’ time. It seems the rich can rob us all, take our produce and have a ball oh but when we take it back they call it crime!
So I went down to the court the following monday. There was a young girl sat crying in the dock. And they told her “crime won’t pay” as they took her child away, and sent her off to hydebank stunned with shock.
The credit card she had was labelled “stolen” and as the C.I.Dman smiled she left in tears, but not a courtroom in the land would put a bankman on remand, though he’d been rippin’ off the workin’ class for years.
(chorus)
So back up at the bar I couldn’t help it. As once again the talk returned to crime. I said the man who has the loot nearly always wears a suit, and any man who rips him off’s a friend of mine. But I looked around at all the angry faces, and I thought I’d keep my feelings to myself. But I know I’m not alone, only scum steal from their own, but if your gonna rob the rich just help youself!
(chorus)
