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One hand
holds my coffee-cup,
While one hand holds the wheel,
I drive myself to work each day,
But what is the appeal?
I listen
to my clientele,
Who often have a gripe,
I try to please them when I can,
But they just want to fight.
It seems
they're never satisfied,
Although I give my time,
And then when all is said and done,
I hardly make a dime.
I wonder
if it's worth it, that
I work here all day long,
For when I think that I've done right,
Some think that I've done wrong.
But it is
for my wife and kids,
I work here everyday,
And do the things that I must do,
To make a little pay.
And when
I see my children, with
A smile upon each face,
I know the reason that I work,
And why I run the race.
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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