Let laureates sing with rapturous swing Of the wonder and glory of work; Let pulpiteers preach and with passion impeach The indolent wretches who shirk. No doubt they are right: in the stress of the fight It`s the slackers who go to the wall; So though it`s my shame I perversely proclaim It`s fine to do nothing at all. It`s fine to recline on the flat of one`s spine, With never a thought in one`s head: It`s lovely to le staring up at the sky When others are earning their bread. It`s great to feel one with the soil and the sun, Drowned deep in the grasses so tall; Oh it`s noble to sweat, pounds and dollars to get, But - it`s grand to do nothing at all. So sing to the praise of the fellows who laze Instead of lambasting the soil; The vagabonds gay who lounge by the way, Conscientious objectors to toil. But lest you should think, by this spatter of ink, The Muses still hold me in thrall, I`ll round out my rhyme, and (until the next time) Work like hell - doing nothing at all.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
The script ran 0.001 seconds.
