‘The Rich Can’t Win’

Ray Monroe, in investment co.,
Worked from nine to eight, he’d never stop.
Winning promotion through devotion,
Ray wheeled and dealed his way to the top.
When whiz-kid Ray could afford one day
To retire at the age of thirty-four:
‘I’ll survey all that’s mine, while sipping wine,’
‘And lounge around for evermore.

If you can fit a camel through a needle’s eye,
Still you won’t get to heaven, for tonight you’ll die.
You can’t take out what you didn’t bring in,
For the first will be last, so the rich can’t win.
You think your life you can control,
But too short-sighted is your plan and goal.
For God, He moves in mysterious ways,
And if you’re not with him, you’ll waste all your days.

Now Stanley Lord, he worked for Fords,
At a hundred quid a week with overtime.
When production soared, he got a bit bored,
So he went on strike, joining the picket line.
Hardship he knew all winter through,
Holding out for twenty-five percent.
Then back on the pay-roll, let the good-times roll:
‘I’ll pack this in and run a pub in Kent.’

Derek Bates, was a plumber’s mate,
Worked hard all day to make an honest wage.
Uncle Bill, left him in his will
All his worthless shares, when he came of age.
Then something strange on the stock exchange.
The value of his shares began to mount.
Then he sold every share, now a millionaire.
He says, ‘I’ll live off my Swiss bank account.’

Frances Charm had an arable farm.
The harvest was very good this year.
Found himself on top of a bumper crop,
But the storage space was not enough, I fear.
To protect his grain from the threat of rain,
Bigger and better barns he built.
He said, ‘What a lucky man, how clever I am.’
‘Now I’ll live my life up to the hilt.’

Composer: Robert Bathurst

Lyricist: Martin Day
© M Day 1979