Lyrics:

Get up in the morning, slaving for bread, sir,
So that every mouth can be fed.
Poor me, Israelites.

Get up in the morning, slaving for bread, sir,
So that every mouth can be fed.
Poor me, Israelites.

My wife and my kids, they pack up and a leave me.
'Darling,' she said 'I was yours to recieve.'
Poor me, Israelites.

Shirt them a-tear up, trousers are gone.
I don't want to end up like Bonnie and Clyde.
Poor me, Israelites.

After a storm there must be a calming.
You catch me in your farm, you sound your alarm.
Poor me, Israelites.

I said I get up in the morning, stabbing for bread, sir,
So that every mouth can be fed.
Poor me, Israelites.

Said my wife and my kids, they pack up and a leave me.
'Darling,' she said 'I was yours to recieve.'
Poor me, Israelites.

Look, me shirt them a-tear up, trousers are gone.
I don't want to end up like Bonnie and Clyde.
Poor me, Israelites.

After a storm there must be a calming.
You catch me in your farm, you sound your alarm.
Poor me, Israelites.

Poor me, Israelites.
I'm wonder why I'm working so hard.
Poor me, Israelites.
I look down and out, sir.