Il bosse dur
                                                                                                 Et bande mou
                                                                                                 C’t homme-là pour sûr
                                                                                                 Ce n’est pas nous.

                                                                                                 Les cadences sont très élevées
                                          IL BOSSE DUR                               Mais il n’a d’choix que d’la fermer.
                                                                                                 Pas de pause déjeuner
                                                                                                 On pare d’abord au plus pressé
                                                                                                 On presse ici comme jamais
                                                                                                 Le cadre et l’ouvrier.

                                                                                                 Il a l’moral dans les talons
                                                                                                 Mais tous les jours ce pov’ con
                                                                                                 Il dit bonjour à son patron
                                                                                                 Puis va bosser plus qu’de raison.

                                                                                                 Il trime comme une bête
                                                                                                 En rêvant à la retraite
                                                                                                 Qu’il n’aura pas c’est certain.
                                                                                                 Faut pas penser au lendemain !

                                                                                                 Quand il rentre le soir
                                                                                                 A huit heures moins le quart
                                                                                                 Il est tout mou du g’nou.
                                                                                                 Du reste aussi, ça l’rend fou.

                                                                                                 Ce monsieur-là ce n’est pas nous
                                                                                                 Lui il bosse dur et bande mou.