As far as I could see, such an attitude was divisive and ill-conceived, not to mention prejudice-ridden and lazy.  I still think this to some extent, and I still see evidence of this type of attitude, but my views have changed as to the existential and moral status of working-class-hood.  This change came about almost instantaneously, when I was confronted with an irrefutable counter-argument in the form of an extremely well-crafted lyrical riposte to exactly the views I espoused. 

I heard this song, you see, “I Thought I Was Working Class”, by  The 1926 Committee, from the album entitled “More of the Same”.  The lyrics I shall reproduce below, on account of the scarcity of this song.  The question “who digs the roads?” by itself would have done the job for me, but the volume and diversity of content of the repetitive form which follows is like using a sledge-hammer to crack a nut.  Very satisfying indeed.

This experience highlighted for me the power of music and song to change people’s views, and make them think about things they otherwise wouldn’t have done, to inform people’s beliefs with logical argument.  Why is it that these types of songs tend not to make it too far into the mainstream?  If they do not sell, ie if people don’t want to buy them, I can’t help wondering why that might be. 

“I thought I was working clarse
But after all that, it was an attitude problem
I thought I was working class, but it was only me.

And I drink too much and I smoke too much
Curse too much and I cough too much
I get a lot of paranoia and I never go to church

And I love too much and I care too much
I laugh too much and I share too much
I know a lot of things but I’ve still got a lot to learn.
And I’m not afraid to say it
Ha ha ha I’m not afraid to say it

I thought I was working class, but after all that it was an attitude problem
I thought I was working class but it was only me
Because there is no working class, there’s just some people with an attitude problem
There is no working class, there’s only you and me

I build too many walls, use too many tools,
Lost touch with my mates I took too many days off school
I hardly ever see my folks
And I spit in the street all the time

But I’d give you anything I had,
Because that’s what I inherited from my mum and dad
I could kiss with passion and stand with pride on a picket line
And I’m not afraid to say it
Ha ha ha ha I’m not afraid to say it

I thought I was working clarse, but after all that it was an attitude problem
I thought I was working class but it was only me
Because there is no working class, it’s just us people with our attitude problems
There is no working class in a classless society

Who digs the roads
Who drives the buses
Who works the markets in the pouring rain
Who cleans the floors
Who cleans the toilets
Who does the mining where the mines remain

Who drives the tubes
Who makes the pizzas
Who puts the letters through your front door
Who shifts the bins
Who does the packing
Who fills the shelves in the superstore

Who makes the beds
Who wipes the arses
Who does the cooking in the school canteen
Who works the ferries
Who packs the terraces
Who keeps all those offices clean

Who are the labourers
Who are the plasterers
Who are the chippies and who are the sparks
Who reads the meters
Who peels potatoes
Who put the apples on the apple cart?

Who made my clothes
Who built the ring-road
Who works in those factories
Who pulls the pints
Who collects the glasses
Who gets the gear off the back of a lorry

Who drives the trains
Who laid the track
Who made the shoes that are on my feet
Who cuts the grass
Who sweeps the gutters
Who put the road signs on my street

Who’s never missed
Who’s on the waiting list
Who does all the work in all those posh hotels
Who’s never named
Who’s never mentioned
Who’s signing on in Tunbridge Wells

Who works in the chippy
Who does deliveries
Who does the service wash in your launderette
Who’s got a head for heights
For chimneys and street-lights
Borrows money to pay their debts

Who are those kids
Standing at the bus-stop
Or playing in the rain with an old tin can
Who helps the nippers
Get across the road
It’s a lollipop lady or a lollipop man

Who cleans the windows
Who works the check-out
Who makes the carpets and lay ‘em on the floor
Who’s forever saying sorry
Who drives the lorries
Who put up the statues of your ladies and lords

Who cleans the drains
Who laid the gas-mains
Who made the water run out of my tap
Who made my bread
Or the hat upon my head
Who treats the turdies when I’ve had a crap

Who are the nurses
Who’s in the fire brigade
Who takes care of the sick and the old
Who’s the receptionist
Who’s the telephonist
Who’s drinking in the park, sleeping in the gutter

Who’s on the bus
Struggling with a push-chair
And all them shopping in the carrier bags
‘Cause they’re on the double
Whenever I’m in trouble
Who are the best mates I’ve ever had

Who d’you call the housewives
Who made my bread-knife
Who made this pen and paper in my hand
Who drives the minicab
Works in the rehab
Holidays in margate or camber sands

Who fails at school
Works in the typing pool
Who laid the pipes underneath your floor
Who takes the rap
Who takes the rubbish
And who’s in the trenches in every war

Who’s dying in the trenches in every war
Defending our enemies in every war
Well I thought it was the working class
But it was just me with my attitude problem
I thought it was the working class
But it was only you and me

Because there is no working class
So you’d better get the picture, up early in the morning
There is no working class
So you’d better go back to sleep!”