To the far Country I came from to the coarse fields by the bog
Where as a schoolboy I hunted with old brown Pudsy the dog.
I migrated for fame and fortune but I don’t have fortune and fame
I am as poor as a church mouse with just a few bucks to my name
Must say I’ve never been poorer but for that I’ve myself to blame
Can’t even afford a ticket to return to from where I came.
Money is seen as important your financial worth you are judged by
And up the great social ladder I’m one who never climbed high
I’m seen as one of the failures not that I really much care
For would it make me a better person if I were a millionaire.
I am not into self pity as self pity is not a good thing
And I can admire the poor fellow though down on his luck who can sing
Battered by life but not beaten he drags himself up when he’s down
He can walk with his head held high when he is out on the town.
I’m tired of judgemental people those who feel that they can judge
Those who see me as a failure and though I don’t bear them a grudge
They ought to mind their own business and leave well enough others alone
And leave the person who is perfect to be the first to cast the stone.
Out there I know there are many with half of the chances of I
Who are a million times richer success is there for those who try
I wish them well with their millions provided others they don’t cheat
For in life there’s only bad karma for all those who live by deceit.
I still buy the tattslotto tickets and what hope have you people say
Of having the six winning numbers for things seldom happen that way? .
For every big tattslotto winner a million or more have to lose
Gambling is one of the big vices along with the drugs and the booze.
Tired of my meagre existence for this is the poorest I’ve been
And I don’t care if I die tomorrow and I only say what I mean
I had my chances of fortune and I had my chances of fame
And if I am seen as a failure I only have myself to blame.
Yet I intend to keep living and battle right on till the end
I can do good for somebody and I can be somebody’s friend
Help out some poor older person their garden water and weed
And charge them well below the award rate good karma comes from a good deed.
Far from the Land I was raised in and feeling like a tired old hack
I am growing old in this Country I can’t afford to go back
To the far country I came from to the coarse fields by the bog
Where as a schoolboy I hunted with old brown Pudsy the dog.