Here I sit, broken-hearted
Sad to say, the week has started.
Customers backed up on the phone,
Just the three of us, alone.
Tickets and mail and calls, oh my,
I long for the day I say goodbye.
At the mercy of idiots every day,
why won’t these morons go away?
A fantasy kept on the shelf:
“Thanks for calling, go fuck yourself.”
Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all week. Try the veal.