[Spoken Intro- Weathered old workin' man vocal] I need to quit this gig,.. I'm getting too old for this... So I'm telling you this story, Recording all of it. [Verse] "Get a job", they said, "No handouts coming your way". Back in those old days, That's just how we lived each day. We grew up in an era When a job was meant for life. You found yourself a trade, And you stuck with it through strife. I was young and thought, "Yeah, sure, I can do this thing." Started as a concreter's offsider, Learning everything. That was the label of the day, The call came loud and clear. "Jump to it, help set it up, The gear needs to be here." So I set myself a target, I'd prove my youth and might. If the old blokes pushed three barrows, I'd push four through the site. Wet concrete became my best friend, I wore it with such pride. My nostrils were encased with it, Even in me boots it would hide. The old blokes laughed, "You'll toughen up, you'll earn your concrete skin." I reckon after just one week, It already settled in. Back then it was paddocks, Plenty of room to spare. Wide-open jobs for miles around, Fresh country in the air. No fences crowding every side, No houses packed in tight. Just barrows, boots and open ground, From morning until night. These days it's fences, houses, pumps, Not an inch of room to spare. And half the job's twelve storeys high... How the hell did I end up there? A young bloke these days, I'm not... Forget that barrow four. I'm flat out climbing stairs these days, And counting every floor. Yeah, they have a lift... that's right, And cramped as it is. Packed with tools and young blokes, All dressed in high-vis. Now patience never sat quite right Upon me working frame. To stand around and wait for lifts, Just ain't been in me game. Check me hard hat, check me gloves, High-vis, earmuffs too. One last look before the climb... "Righto, that'll do." Once I'd pushed four loaded barrows, Just to prove what I could do. Now I'm counting flights instead, "One, two, three..." ...NO that's only two. Finally reach the top at last, I'm puffed and dripping through. Reach for smoko, then remember... "Damn.... Me esky's in the ute." ... So if you're young and keen like I once was, Go on and give your best. But one day you'll be counting stairs, And leaving the esky with the rest. [Spoken outro] [Vocal needs to sound exhausted] I need to quit this gig... I'm really too old for this.
