Deliver the paper deliver the porn   Deliver the baker deliver the morn   A quiverin' jibberin' shiverin' mass      Of sunshine and good times that I have to pass   On the way to my job on the way to my work   On the way to that slobberin' hoverin' jerk      Who's my boss today? Who's my boss to stay?   Who's my supervisor when I'm in my grave?   A slave on the run still under the gun   Of Attila the Hun with a cinnamon bun      I don't know son, was there somethin' I missed   I don't think Fritz Lang was a fantasist   Metropolis exists is this   If you listen close you can hear the piss      Every day's another loss need the pay so please the boss   Through the sludge they mingle by the mile   Every worker looks ahead ah the kiddies must be fed   So they trudge along in single file      Joo ming boo haa ooo      And you turn and you toil and you burn and you boil   In the tourniquet coil of the white folks' soil   Spoilin' with a malaise worse than disses or dope   Wakin' up in a haze with your wishes and hopes   And your poor little dreams all wrapped up in burlap      That you carry around for a sniff or a snack   Or a taste in your haste to get right back on track   Outta whack with the pack but acquiring the knack   Of ignoring the rustle that quietly seethes   The hustle, the buy-it the air that you breathe      Every day's another loss need the pay so please the boss   Through the sludge they mingle by the mile   Every worker looks ahead ah the kiddies must be fed   So they trudge along in single file      Joo ming boo haa ooo