I'd hate to work inside a shop,
And see how money's spent.
I'd not have risen to the top
Imagine serving, in the ranks
Of shopgirls! Oh how horrid!
Saying “Morning”, “Please” and “Thanks” –
It pains my perfect forehead.
It might have been a launderette –
It would have done me in
To learn the petty etiquette,
To watch the constant spin.
I might have had to handle cash,
While standing there, beguiling –
It would have given me a rash,
That smiling, smiling, smiling.
Imagine me, a butcher's wife,
Who had to play a part,
The daily grind, to spend my life
With my husband's bleeding heart.
To run a little country store,
To practise little lies –
And not to say “This is the law”
But “Try that on for size”!
A shop! It is a place, no doubt,
That's only fit for brutes,
Fulfilling orders given out
By men in dodgy suits.