My father was the brakeman on a rollercoaster,
my mother turned the handle of a mangle,
my sister was a pin-up on a Playboy poster,
my auntie danced in nightclubs tingle-tangle.
Our home was not much bigger than a cardboard box,
for ten of us a remarkably tight fit,
the toilet was outside at the bottom of the yard,
and we had to queue for ages for a sit.
For breakfast, we had crusts and for dinner, luke-warm tea,
on our birthdays cabbage cake and turnip juice,
when dad was down the local and mother on the game,
we skived off school, and we wrote our own excuse.
I wore my brother's handdowns and sister's underpants,
a bath we had just once or twice a year,
my shoes were scuffed and dirty, and rather down at heel,
and my trousers had a big hole in the rear.
The boys went shoplifting in the local corner shop,
with girls, we played strip poker, one was Annie,
if I played my cards right, she reluctantly allowed
inspection of her every nook and cranny.
Entry to the cinema was never ever paid,
we just sneaked in through the exit at the rear,
where the youngest one was posted as a lookout
and we took our seats when he gave the all-clear.
We had little In our youth, but we were honest,
at least with our comrades in the working class,
and when the future brings, at last, the revolution
then the capitalist rich can kiss our ass.