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TISM

The Men's Room

The fucking kids are whingeing
They can't get a job;
The photocopy repair man
Is a smarmy smartarse knob;
I've been running this office
For so long I can't recall -
I've gone and pissed thirty years
Up against a wall.
I've gone and pissed thirty years up against a wall.
I've gone and pissed thirty years up against a wall.
'Good morning Mr. Jenkins,'
The office girls all say;
'Gentlemen,' I tell the board,
'The agenda for today?'
I play the part so desperately
Because the truth so appalls:
I've gone and pissed thirty years
Up against a wall.
The fingers that knot my tie
Are fat with some success;
They tremble - still so slightly,
So far only I notice:
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In the far off wilderness
A lone hyena calls:
I've gone and pissed thirty years
Up against a wall.
Off I go to the men's room
For the seventh time today:
My bladder no longer hears me,
No matter what I say.
I count the tiles in front of me,
And wait for the trickle to fall:
I've gone and pissed thirty years
Up against a fucking wall.
I've gone and pissed thirty years up against a wall.
I've gone and pissed thirty years up against a wall.
I've gone and pissed thirty years up against a wall.
I've gone and pissed thirty years up against a wall.
I've gone and pissed thirty years up against a wall.
I've gone and pissed thirty years up against a wall.
I've gone and pissed thirty years up against a wall.
I've gone and pissed thirty years up against a wall.