To Do

Where my heart was once a-flutter
Now my head is all a-clutter
When I think I seem to stutter
Like a golfer with the yips

I've got a hundred things to fix
And I've run out of Weetabix
I'll be in work 'til after six
And I'm getting nothing done

It's December 22nd
And where once reunion beckoned
Now it seems I hadn't reckoned
That we'd be so far apart

Necrotised Brain Shavings' The Office

... an ode to the office, to be sung in the Death Metal style ...

First I'd shoot the slimy-faced Boss
Who pours his opinion like thick hot fudge sauce
Then I'd shoot the witless fuck
Who intones as his own what he read in a book

I'd shoot the one who thinks he's great
I'd point the gun at his pointless face
I'd shoot the one with the shiny head
His hair is gone and his dreams are dead

Chorus:
I hate when the telephone rings
And I hate what the end-of-month brings
I know why the mirrors are there
To remind them all why this is all they deserve


Next I'd shoot the giggling tart
Who laughs every time she opens her mouth
Then the snorting elite-schooling prick
Face like a pigeon's head wrapped 'round a dick

I'd shoot the one who still tosses her hair
She used to be hot but now nobody cares
I'd shoot the one with the snout for a nose
Who chats on the phone 'til my veins thrombose

Chorus

Next the one who sneaks off like a weasel
And the one like a young ginger goatee'd bald eagle
Then the woman who clenches her legs
As if she can't part them lest men smell her eggs

I'd shoot the one whose suit is too small
I'd shoot their bodies and watch them fall
Lastly I'd shoot myself right in the head
For shooting the slaves and still wishing them dead

Chorus