We are the worker bees.
Lively and high spirit are we.
At night while everyone sleeps, we are buzzing.
Hearts full of gold, they will never stop beating.
We can get blown away in a simple breeze.
Oh, we are the worker bees.

You are the queen bee,
full of anger and ready to seize.
With your bare hands you make us trust,
ready to destroy us into dust.
Though we work for you, you still tease.
Oh, you are queen bee.

I am all but a worker bee,
never stopping to displease.
I spend night and day working on your behalf.
It gets so hard I can hardly laugh.
When I get home, I spend hours scrubbing the dirt away,
as I do everyday.
Yet it never seems to leave the crevice of my knees,
so I rub as though they have a disease.
The dirt never goes away, but you are so clean.
It is as though this division is foreseen,
like you meant for me to be less than you.
If you spent a day in my shoes, oh, how you would have no clue.
I still spend hours dreaming about what can become of me.
Oh yes, I am but a worker bee.