Nellie Mckay - Work Song |
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Work Song
Nellie Mckay Deliver the paper deliver the porn deliver the baker deliver the morn A quiverin jibberin shiverin mass of sunshine and good times that I have to pass on the way to my job on the way to my work on the way to that slobberin hoverin jerk whos my boss today whos my boss to stay whos my supervisor when Im in my grave a slave on the run still under the gun of Attila the Hun with a cinnamon bun I dont know son, was there somethin I missed I dont think Fritz Lang was a fantasist Metropolis exists is this if you listen close you can hear the piss Every days another loss need the pay so please the boss through the sludge they mingle by the mile every worker looks ahead ah the kiddies must be fed so they trudge along in single file joo ming boohaaooo and you turn and you toil and you burn and you boil in the tourniquet coil of the white folks soil spoilin with a malaise worse than disses or dope wakin up in a haze with your wishes and hopes and your poor little dreams all wrapped up in burlap that you carry around for a sniff or a snack or a taste in your haste to get right back on track outta whack with the pack but acquiring the knack of ignoring the rustle that quietly seethes the hustle, the buythe air that you breathe joo ming boohaaooo |
