Thanks a lot for that big mess
I was in some real distress
When the glass of beer I sat on you
Bumped my arm and went “splat” on you.
(There was much excess)
Table, what a pest!
I should drop you in the outdoor murk
for turning me mad and berserk
You had my laptop set to Facebook
I'm sure you can bet I, spaced, looked
and gawked instead of doing work.
Table, what a jerk!
How come you hid my bill for air
Under my mags without a care
That I just finished reading
Though you knew I would be needing
it to keep sweat off my derriere!
But table, au contraire.
No more will you keep my stuff
All hodge-podge like piles of fluff
No more will you let distractions
Keep me from all life's attractions
No more will I fumble
through the jumble
of my papers, my controllers, and my coat
This is it. Get out, you're fired.
('Cause you're the perfect scapegoat)
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