Life is brutal,
If you must work as a maid.
Hopeless, futile,
Overworked and underpaid.
And if you just surrender,
And if you don't learn to use your head,
Though you may live to a hundred,
You'll still end up in a poorhouse bed.

As for me, I must say,
There were skills that I learned right away.
Clothes to wash, beds to make,
Floors to sweep, meals to cook, cakes to bake.
But it didn't take me long to see
That life was passsing me by.
I consulted with my conscience.
It said, "Listen, honey,
You've learned how to bake,
Now just learn how to take
Your piece of the cake."

I caught on so well, before anyone knew it,
I had some nice clothes and a trinket or two.
Perhaps you are wond'ring "How does she do it?"
With jewelry and dresses,
My road to sucess is ---
I'd give you three guesses,
But I think one will do.

I was sent out
Shopping alone evry day.
When I went out,
They'd give me money to pay,
And out of each ten duros
I'd end up spending, say, eight or nine,
And what was left I deposited
With a soldier friend of mine.

Then one day I came back
And I found I'd been given the sack
Don't know why, don't know how,
And I laugh when I think of it now.
When my mistress had finished screaming,
Her son whispered in my ear.
As he paid me my back wages,
He said, "Listen, honey, you know what I think."
And he said with a wink,
"Let me buy you a drink."

I've worked for so many and gotten so clever,
That's how I arrived where you find me today.
I work for an old man who can't live forever.
At the end of my journey
With money to burn, e-
Ven power of attorney,
What more can I say?