The Jewellery Quarter Worker

Last night I dreamt I told my ex-boss,
 He could stick his poxy job right up his - I say,
 The day's long gone but I once was,
 A Jewellery Quarter Worker,
 A Jewellery Quarter Worker.
 We'd sheets of fine silver and bars of pure gold,
 Rings of platinum bought and sold,
 And we'd ship them all out to wherever we're told,
 As Jewellery Quarter Workers,
 As Jewellery Quarter Workers.
 We kept an old, white armoured van in the pound,
 That roared into life when the key was turned round,
 Then we'd hit the M40 and be London-bound
 Jewellery Quarter Workers,
 Oh, Jewellery Quarter Workers.
 And I'd bring an old flask, of tea,
 Of which Tom would partake,
 To accompany his vittles, or his thirst for to slake,
 At the doors of the Abbey, you could one day see break-taking
 Jewellery Quarter Workers,
 Two Jewellery Quarter Workers.
 Now a working man's life is a humble affair,
 For the boys in the suits draw the princelier share,
 Ah, you'll never be rich, when you toil below stairs,
 As a Jewellery Quarter Worker,
 A Jewellery Quarter Worker.
 Now, gold prices fluctuate, investors beware!
 And speculators all, should proceed with great care.
 But my greatest recession, was the loss of my hair...
 As a Jewellery Quarter Worker,
 A Jewellery Quarter Worker.
 Now, I hope my ex master would take no offence,
 For a dream's but a dream, and conveys no intent.
 There was never one week I was late with the rent,
 As a Jewellery Quarter Worker,
 A Jewellery Quarter Worker,
 A Jewellery Quarter Worker,
 A Jewellery Quarter Wor - ker!