Zero Hour
I’m the man that keeps the country going,
I’m a flexible little hero:
I work for every Corporation,
But my contract says only zero.
The company controls everything I do:
In fact they make my life impossibly hard.
I’d really like to argue with them,
But they’re holding every card.
They demand to command my loyalty,
And would like to have my gratitude,
But I need the minimum wage they’re paying,
If I’m to pay for fuel and food.
I stack your supermarket shelves,
With cornflakes, baked beans and cans of beer-o,
And many other things I can’t afford,
But they still treat me like a zero.
Shifts are week-to-week and month-to-month:
I never know when there’ll be some work -
I’ve no sick-time off and there’s a pay-freeze:
In fact they treat me like a jerk.
Some folks call it exploitation -
That’s only one expression I’ve heard.
They have all the powers over my hours,
So slavery’s probably a better word.
I get no holidays that are paid for,
But I’m meant to be of good cheer-o.
My open contract means I can be sacked:
I’m not a person, merely a zero.
I serve out your burgers and your fries,
Yet I’m usually totally ignored:
The smell of the grease will never cease -
All this for so little reward.
I can’t complain or blow the whistle,
They’d just turn round and laugh,
And next week there’d be no hours to work
I’d no longer be part of the staff.
I clean your offices all through the night,
Using chemicals – I’ve got all the gear-o:
That’s how I labour, me and my neighbour:
I’m just a resource, I’m just a zero.
There’s nowt I can do – it’s Catch-22,
And it eats away at your soul:
You just can’t beat The Company,
They’ve got me completely under control.
I’m no longer a person, I’m a mere cipher,
They’ve made my life a complete bitch:
They only call me when they want me,
As if I’ve got some sort of on/off switch.
It’s a bind or a devil’s bargain,
And I’m reduced to living in fear-o:
This is the curse of modern commerce -
No longer a human, but a mere zero.
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