The fucking kids are whinging 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.
"Good morning Mr Jenkins," The office girls all say; "Gentlemen," I tell the board, "What's the agenda for today?" I play the part so desperately Because the truth so appals: I've gone and pissed thirty years Up against a wall.
The fingers that knot my tie Are fat with some success; But they tremble - still so slightly, So far only I notice: 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 as the trickle falls: I've gone and pissed thirty years Up against a wall.