NOW I am a pensioner,

And read that I am poor,

It only makes me think about my mam.

She knew what being poor was,

And to keep us children warm,

She'd struggle to the gas works with a pram,

For cinders for the fire.

For at times we had no fuel,

And some day tea was Oxo and dry bread.

So please don't say I'm suffering,

I'm not a blooming fool,

I have a TV and I'm warm and fed.

We should stop complaining,

Things aren't all that bad,

And I know it's getting better every day.

If we're greedy and ungrateful,

And take more than we need,

It's the children of the future who will pay.

And don't tell me I'm poor,

'Cos that's not what I am,

As I sit here and think about my mam.

OAP

Mackenzie Street

Bolton