Every time they come up to the window:
“It’s just one type of bread”
Not that you’re supposed to know,
But it’s just one type of bread.
It may sound a bit absurd,
But I wish I was dead.
How many times have I heard,
“It’s just one type of bread”?
But that’s not all, there’s so much more
About these fucks that I abhor
Bustin’ ass, but not makin’ tips
“Excuse me, sir, those are just display chips”
Downright dicks and stuck-up bitches,
Deal with them before you do Dane’s dishes
Then close his bus, ‘cause he’s “gotta run”
I hear time flies when you’re having fun
But not for me, I’ll stay here all night
No one ever comes, but, who knows, right?
They might come at five ‘til close
When everything’s wrapped and you’re ready to go
And then it’s a Field Trip that they want,
“No, those are ones, it’s just the font.
Excuse me sir, this card’s not valid.
What’s that? Change it to a Sunrise salad?”
“Wrong, sir! Wrong! Under section 37B of the contract signed by him, it states quite clearly that all offers shall become null and void if - and you can read it for yourself in this photostatic copy:
‘I, the undersigned, shall forfeit all rights, privileges, and licenses herein and herein contained, et cetera, et cetera... Fax mentis incendium gloria cultum, et cetera, et cetera... Memo bis punitor delicatum!’ It's all there, black and white, clear as crystal! You stole fizzy lifting drinks! You bumped into the ceiling which now has to be washed and sterilized, so you get nothing! You lose!”
And it could be worse, I know, it’s true
And it wouldn’t be so bad if there were something to do
But I can’t slice tomatoes, ‘cause the blades’re too dull
I can’t do the dishes, ‘cause the gray water’s full
Can’t makes change, ‘cause we’re out of fives
Can’t unwrap beef, ‘cause it’s been wrapped eight times.
You swear some day you’ll kick these Short Bus shoes,
But until that day, I’m afraid, you lose.
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