Another set of lyrics for what could be an autobiographical C&W song… Hope you enjoy!
Went down to the jobs fair
To find myself a job
Went down to the jobs fair
’cause I’m no lazy slob
The lady at the jobs fair
Asked me about my skills
That lady at the job fair
Asked what gives me thrills
I said to the job fair lady
“Well, I like writing rhymes
It may not seem like much to you
But it passes all my time”
Well, the lady at the job fair
She pushed a little more
“I know you’re outta work now,
But what’d you do before?”
And I stood there at the job fair
And I described it thus:
“Every day I stood up
To get knocked down by a bus
And as I lay there bleeding
The crows would peck my eyes
And the foxes there would feast on
A tender soul surprise”
Now maybe that’s a stretch,
But that’s just the way I felt
Working for the big man
Play-ing the hand I’m dealt
There’s gotta be a better way
To live an honest life
I just wanna feed my family
My two boys and my wife
So I said to the job fair lady,
“Can’t I write for cash?
My family’s needs are simple.
Nothing all that flash.”
Well, the lady at the job fair,
She laughed right in my face.
“Poems sell for pennies!
You gotta get back in the race”
Well, if poems sell for pennies,
Then I’ll just write some more
Yes, if my poems sell for pennies
I’ll write a whole bunch more
Picture credit: flickr.com/photos/51550312
The keyboard’s covered in crumbs,
On the desk, a coffee mug ring.
In this age of flexible working,
Hot desking isn’t my thing.
Everything’s open plan
Even the bosses sit among us.
The effect of this on morale
Is obviously humongous…
The back of the chair is broken,
It’s fixed in an uncomfortable place.
The keyboard is sporadically working
Flip-flopping into UPPER CASE.
We can’t so much as open a window
In this air-conditioned box.
And it’s impossible not to hear
When anybody talks.
The phone handset’s covered in germs
From a hundred different lips.
The Enter key is still sticky
From Friday’s fish and chips.
The double-click only works
If you’ve the reactions of Superman.
And I always end the day sweating,
Regardless of how I began.
E-mail’s impossible to send,
The network grinds to a halt.
Now I’ve lost all my shared drives…
Yet I.T. is never at fault.
The guy at the next desk –
Never met him before.
Surprised I hadn’t heard him though
With that frequent, awful guffaw.
(The clear desk policy prohibits
Putting up pictures of loved ones.
All must be cleared and hidden away
Before 5 o’clock comes.)
It doesn’t seem that long ago
That we’d work in our own little team
With a little, personal space:
Now, it just seems like a dream.
You’d think it was pretty basic
That if somebody valued your work,
They’d give you the means to do it,
And not treat you like a jerk.
Creative Commons/Phil Whitehouse