We Can't Afford To Cry

It's over 400 miles from the town I was born
To the town where I found a job
Now every Friday at two
From the Post Office queue
I send what I can my love
I had no wish to leave you
No wish to kiss you goodbye
But two years on the dole
Can erode your very soul
And we can't afford to cry

Well I'm Glaswegian born and a proud Scottish son
With a wife and three sons to feed
I'm a welder by trade
But there's nothing being made
And a stone can't be made to bleed
We had two years of trying
We were paupers of the state
I couldn't take any more
No more handouts for the poor
I had to leave just to fill our plates
So I came to the South not a pound to my name
And they told me work a week in hand
I was desperate for work
I was treated like dirt
In this great opportunist land

So don't you ever tell me
Life is easy on the dole
'Cos it eats at your pride
Poverty's your bride
And erodes your very soul

© John Richards

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