Does this qualify?
To the guy with his starched shirt collars sticking straight out
You slumped and bent to do your work
And now you look a proper jerk.
No doubt you think you're very smart
And hold your work to be an art;
You're diligent, you work alone,
You git 'er done, but you're a drone.
The company's your fold and queen
That bought your soul with gold and green
She likes it that you're unaware
Of collar points out in the air
Because it means no other fold
Will offer you more green or gold.
And so you'll work from eight to five
Imagining that you're alive;
And then, thank goodness for my rhyme,
You'll work your unpaid overtime.
So walk the mall to get your lunch
And get back to your desk to hunch
Again, your half an hour gone,
Go home and get back in at dawn.