Stop all the computers, cut off the telephone
Prevent the boss from barking with a juicy bonus
Silence the mobiles and with a muffin or bun
Bring out the coffee, let the lazy arses come
Let inane chortle from drones go over head
Dribble the blue sky thinking message She Was Inbred
Put crap ties around the white necks of the public servants
Let the stationery cabinet police wear black cotton pants
She was my wrath, my gout, my yeast infection, my stress
My working week and my Sunday pest
My noon cake, my midnight snack, my baulk, my thong
I thought that newbie probation period would last for ever: I was wrong
The Mars bars are not wanted now, put away every one;
Pack up the macaroon and dismantle the bun;
Pour away the ocean of coke and sweep up the bad mood
For something now might eventually come to good