To work for Them is such a bore

I'd rather starve than be a whore


I'd rather lie in bed and snore

Than eat their shit upon the floor

I'd rather hike to Timbucktoo

Than be a monkey in their zoo


People say 'to pay the rent'

But as you know that makes no sense

For if we all refused to pay

They couldn't drive us all away


Others say, it's for 'Old Age'

But no friends of mine have ever saved

Enough to buy a pauper's grave

So what gain, in thus enslaved?

With furrowed brow, and broken back

Those friends of mine are really whacked!


So gather your rose-lips while ye may!

I'd hate to go and I'd love to stay

Don't bother with coffee or sandwich today

Just stroke something naughty, and lead me astray

For if sky be blue, or the sky be grey

The road be clear, and the radio says

Death is thirty-two minutes away.


Hieronymus Bosch, and Robert Crumb

Monday mornings are never fun.


Five more minutes to laugh and to play

Five more minutes, to be human today.

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