We're just the working class

Who are you
To look down on us;
The "working class" you consider pus
An infection we must be, in the eyes of your perfection
We build your high-rises and shine the windows reflecting our shiny sweat covered faces
Who are you
To look down on other races
Until you taste this blood and tears you've never known years of hardship
Who are you
On your private ship; sipping wine labored from a farmers efforts
Served to you on a silver platter
You can scatter the pieces of the chessboard any way you please;
and believe we'll always be on your leash
You tease us with petty treats, gifts to keep us quiet
Always dangling the carrot, forever re-angling the incentive
Just over that forever horizon
The prize on the end of the stick; as we stick our noses right up your asses
We're just the lower-classes
The majority, the gun-wielding hard workers of society
So where is your propriety when your pissing your pants
When your given a slaves rations
Where are your detached passions as you watch the starving child clinging to her mother
And you; with your expensive whore-lover, thinking she's nothing but a money-grubber
But can you see from her eyes
When theres nowhere left to turn
And all you yearn for is power; not dreams, hopes, or wishes
As she kisses you goodbye; you'll never see the tears of shame she hides
Your one night rides; an already faded memory
A degrading power-trip, to make your dick feel big
But your nothing; behind the suit, the education and plastic surgery
Just an animal afraid to get dirty