Written by Inhopeless
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Tags: Songs, work

Monday, 25 April 2011

Yet again, I shall display my skills at poem writing, and how effeminate it appears to be to my father and my extremely protective mother who suffocates me with love. So yeah, I have no family problems whatsoever.

This goes out to the overworked heroes of the daily grind. The others guys. The pencil-pushers in the backrooms making the front-line guys look good. To the teachers, public sector workers, and people stuck in cubicles - here we are.

"It's Not Work If You Do It Right"

I once had a dream,
With a pretty, blue, watery stream,
That's not what I can say for me,
My car is spewing shit that's unclean,

It's a fucking 9 to 5,
I feel more dead than alive,
What's my role?
Well, it's better than the dole,
Well, there's YouTube and Wikipedia,
To solve my faux-sleep apnoea
It's a job.
It's work.
It pays.

And the boss,
he ain't a dream,
It should be a woman,
According to Prof. Newman
They make better supervisors,
than Dave.
But, I gotta say,

It's a fucking 9 to 5,
I feel more dead than alive,
What's my role?
Well, it's better than the dole,
Well, there's YouTube and Wikipedia,
To solve my faux-sleep apnoea
It's a job.
It's work.
It pays.


What occurs in lunch break?
The same as in the work day,
Sitting,
Shouting,
Doubting,
Mouthing,
Failing to meet deadlines.

That's work.
And it's totally wrong,

It's a fucking 9 to 5,
I feel more dead than alive,
What's my role?
Well, it's better than the dole,
Well, there's YouTube and Wikipedia,
To solve my faux-sleep apnea
It's a job.
It's work.
It pays.

At least,
I get free water,
According to the CEO,
That's more perks than I aughtta
I hope I can be Neo,
Cause this sure better be the Matrix,

Dude... I fricking hate my job!
It's a sea of endless entropy!
The car park outside earns more than me!
If I explode today,
There's a replacement the second after!
I can smell the bullshit coming outta the boss's mouth

Despite the never bohemian appearance,
And the vaguely work-ethic that exists,
There is nothing about productivity,
And time-managment that we couldn't gleam from,
New York and London fashion magazines!

I feel like a soldier to the deadline Gestapo,
They're holding dominion, over,
every single,
Pointless safety drill.
Like we're not worthy.

It's a fucking 9 to 5,
I feel more dead than alive,
What's my role?
Well, it's better than the dole,
Well, there's YouTube and Wikipedia,
To solve my faux-sleep apnea
It's a job.
It's work.
It pays.

But to them,
It's never.
Work.
If you do it.
Right way first.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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