Work Is The Curse Of The Drinking Class

My old man said to me 

When I was a little boy 
Son, work is over-rated 
In work there's little joy 
Then he'd pour himself a whiskey 
and he'd light his favorite cigar 
We'd always hear him singin' 
As he headed down the bar 
 
Oscar Wilde I raise my glass 
Work is the curse of the drinking class 
 
The old man worked until he dropped 
He never got no break 
Finally one day his heart had 
More than it could take 
We gathered for his funeral 
I saw a tear in mama's eye 
She raised her fist high in the air 
Then she let out a cry 
 
Many years have passed now 
Since my old man passed away 
But instead of making progress 
We work harder every day 
I just wanna drink in peace 
But work gets in the way 
No matter what you do it seems 
The curse won't go away 
 
Raise your glass 

Raise your glass to the drinking class