Working Class Stiff

26 and blessed beyond my wildest dreams.

For almost a year, I’ve been living a circumstance that seems unrealistically fictitious.

From the house to the pre-owned above ground pool, I feel like I am constantly waking to a daydream.

As if at any given moment I’ll find myself, along with my family shoved back into reality.

Living back on McKinley; draggin’ home a fully loaded grocery cart from Target, legitimately starving, just trying to make it.

I think that I can vibe with Rowling’s skepticisms, for this new life, this new reality, I just cannot bring myself to accept it.

How’d I get here?

I know the answer’s logically sound, that every T’s been crossed, and every I dotted.

Still I can’t seem to shake this dreamy sensation, and I’m not even on any sort of medication.

(Chorus working class stiff, working class fam.

Where we never do things according to plan.

My mama never did live the life of a soccer mom, sporting the classic minivan.

Instead she played both of the roles as my mom and dad.

I remember her continuously teaching me how to work hard.

Each of us scrubbing toilets, making 25 dollars in two hours.

Putting a week’s pay toward the necessities.

We might have been flat broke, and could barely breathe, but at least we earned our keep.)

You on the other hand, have grown up with certain expectations, use to a certain level of comfort.

Creatures of habit, but let’s face it you’ve never once had it like we’ve had it.

You never once had to push, flush, rush, be constantly continuous, cause you’re not us.

Living on the wrong side of the tracks, dealing with those fucked up wacks. Never quite on track, putting up an act, without a single brain cell left intact.

I always felt kinda bad, even though their addictions were bad they’re still apart of the human race, yet Richie Rich bastards like yourselves, wouldn’t even care to remember their face.

Your heart’s are cold and twisted like a maze.

Unfortunate as it is, this is something that we can’t escape,

I hate the fact that you think, this is a part of my blood that I must – should embrace.

Honestly I hate to be the one to break it to ya, but all of your attempts are a waste.

I’m not high class, I’m working class all the way.

(Chorus working class stiff, working class fam.

Where we never do things according to plan.

My mama never did live the life of a soccer mom, sporting the classic minivan.

Instead she played both of the roles as my mom and dad.

I remember her continuously teaching me how to work hard.

Each of us scrubbing toilets, making 25 dollars in two hours.

Putting a week’s pay toward the necessities.

We might have been flat broke, and could barely breathe, but at least we earned our keep.)

What’s a matter Brown clan, afraid your cash won’t win my allegiance?

That my love for my working class blood, out ranks the family name?

What, can’t think of anything witty or intellectual to retort?

I gotta tell ya right now, living your way, your lifestyle would be my last resort.

So go ahead, play it safe, play your game, and we’ll all go our separate ways.

I’ll take my place as the little baa, baa, black sheep, with the high class fam, and stick forever close to my working class fam.

Because at least with them I know where I stand, forever a working class woman.

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