The day stretches itself out into a long and dreadful oblivion.
My eyes keep glancing at the clock, but the clock never seems to change.
The air in the room is dead and stale,
and the people that I work with seem like creepy, robotic zombies.
I get sick to my stomach
as I watch them gossip and groan and go through the same old motions.
I hate the thought of being there, and being one of them
and being around their pathetic, little minds.
If I were a real man, I'd get smart and get the hell out of there,
but I stay in the shit like the swine that I am,
and I continue to plow through the muck and the mud.
Just a little piggy in a big ass rat race, a loser with a dumb ass job.
If I had the balls, I'd let all of these fuckers know
just how boring and meaningless this shit really is;
putting money in the boss's pocket while we sit here
and struggle our asses off just to get by,
just to survive on our shitty little paychecks.
If I were a real man, I'd stick a gun to my boss's head
and I'd let him know the truth about
what a scum-sucking dirty bastard he really is.
I'd have him climb onto his desk, put a rope around his throat,
and I'd make him choke out the last stinking breath of his ungodly soul,
his wretched and miserable and merciless waste of a soul.
But, no! I sit here and I bow down
and I kiss the feet of the dirty rat who employed me.
I stay and I choke the life out of my own soul
just to give that fat, greedy man a home,
just to pay his fucking bills, his mortgage,
his car, his vacations, and his ugly god-forsaken tramp of a wife.
If were a real man and had any balls at all, I'd, I'd.....
I'd quit my job as soon as possible.
Oh yeah, and I'd tell my boss to go fuck himself.....
Copyright 2005 Dog of the Moon