I've spent a lifetime, maybe more
with tipsy losers, tipping jars
holding down a piece of floor
behind these goddamned bars
My manager's a leering jerk
an empty cavern for his head
never done, this weasel's work
he'll be here 'til he's dead
I've met your wife, she is a shrew
I'm sure your love life is a curse
flirts with me and growls at you
keeps condoms in her purse
Your breath is bad, your jokes aren't cute
you'll no doubt die before you're due
buried in that ugly suit
the bugs will pick at you
For every time you stiffed me, chump
stuffed my tip into your pocket
worms will crawl into your rump
and exit your eye socket