The Capitalist

You see that fellow sitting there--

A-thumbing through his books?

A capitalist counting up his dough,

I'd say--from how he looks!

That capitalist who sits in there,

It happens, is my boss;

He's working over-time tonight

To figure out his loss.

O yeah, I'll bet he's got more kale

Than any man in town.

Why, he could buy a kingdom

Or the jewels in a crown.

Those bills he's adding up, my boy,

He's adding to his sorrow;

For well he knows he's got to meet

The payroll on the morrow.

Say, you don't know how rich guys live;

The time they spend in play.

They paint the town red every night,

And work but half a day.

Not this rich man--I know his kind

I've seen him toil and fight

For ways and means to keep afloat--

Then worry half the night.

The way these rich men fool you chumps

Is little short of queer;

Why, you'd retire if you had

His salary for a year.

Yes, I'd retire from the grind,

Quite right--just as you say;

If I bore only half the load

He carries every day.

Ah, he's no poor philanthropist,

The way I figure things,

He makes your wages every time

The little cash bell rings.

Well, have your way--but I'm content

To work for him and see

The pleasant smile upon his face

When he does things for me.

I'm really glad I'm not the boss--

Despite the way you rave--

I sometimes think that I'm a king

And he's my toiling slave!