This one is a bit open ended. I don’t know how it will resolve…
This job ain’t for me
For a start, I’ve got fat.
I like moving around
Need that urgency that
Keeps me up on my toes
Here, I feel like a twat.
Why am I such a twat?
You would think that, for me
Being half comatose
At my desk, getting fat,
Would be bliss! Except that,
I don’t like being round.
And my belly is round
I cannot see my twat!
And I realize that that’s
TMI but for me
Getting lazy and fat
So I can’t see my toes
Shows that I’m comatose
When I love rushing round
Love to burn off the fat
Running round like a twat
Feels like heaven to me
But it seems to me that
I have stopped doing that
If I counted my toes
It would benefit me
More than mooching around
In suspense, like a twat,
Till they trim off the fat
(cause they can’t afford fat!)
And then I will find that
I have stayed, what a twat,
To be axed. On my toes
I will stay, hopping round,
But this job ain’t for me.
I’m no twat. Trim the fat!
Cause it seems to me that
On my toes, I dance round…
An ode to desk jobs everywhere!
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