Give me one big helping of the works,
the stuff that drives me mad.
One big helping of the works,
the junk that makes me sad.
Pile it high and pour it strong,
don’t stop until I blink.
One big helping of the works,
of all the things that push me to the brink.
I like my troubles small and neat —
just one or two will do.
Those kinds I handle on my feet,
like seasoned people do.
I look for my old pair of specs,
then crush them with my shoe.
The room goes blurred, the print won’t do —
well, what’s a man to do?
My wallet’s gone, my cards are too,
I search in growing dread.
And what turns up while rooting through?
A coupon book instead.
The kettle screams, the phone goes dead,
the doorbell starts to ring.
The toast pops up completely black —
now that’s the real thing.
Little mishaps come and go,
I greet them like old friends.
They stab me softly, nice and slow —
and eventually it ends.