1200

'Twelve hundred! Twelve hundred!
'For how many times, my belly has thundered!
'Men, straighten up and put down the tools.
'The time has come, stop working like clockwork fools!
'In our pockets, you can see no hundred bucks,
'But neither should you call us shucks!
'Aight, aight, aight,
'Perhaps we're not so bright.
'That, I don't know quite,
'After all you may be right.
'But still I must say,
'We love our peanuts payday
'Though we could afford no bling bling.
'Till fifty we had nil fling.
'When we sing,
'It's a sting.
'Bother! We chant our working song,
'In the sky, all day long.
'We didn't climb as high
'As that doctor guy
'But by golly, you can't call us low!
'Mind, we say no heigh-ho!
'We have cakes on a birthday,
'Haven't even the wear for buffet.
'Got no mattress for a crib,
'We choose a street ad-lib.
'My men and I,
'We live for pork pie.
'Twelve hundred, it's that time!
'Now who's got a dime?
'Chip in for the chips,
'Don't just eat and lick your lips!
'Now shall we clear away the food,
'Before the boss comes to intrude?