My old man said to me
When I was a little boy
Son, work is over-rated
In work there's little joy
Then he'd pour himself a whiskey
And he'd light his favorite cigar
We'd always hear him singin'
As he headed down the bar
Oscar Wilde I raise my glass
Work is the curse of the drinking class
The old man worked until he dropped
He never got no break
Finally one day his heart had
More than it could take
We gathered for his funeral
I saw a tear in mama's eye
She raised her fist high in the air
Then she let out a cry
Many years have passed now
Since my old man passed away
But instead of making progress
We work harder every day
I just wanna drink in peace
But work gets in the way
No matter what you do it seems
The curse won't go away
Raise your glass
Raise your glass to the drinking class
