The fucking kids are whinging   They can't get a job;   The photocopy repair man   Is a smarmy smartarse knob;   I've been running this office   For so long I can't recall -   I've gone and pissed thirty years   Up against a wall.      "Good morning Mr Jenkins,"   The office girls all say;   "Gentlemen," I tell the board,   "What's the agenda for today?"   I play the part so desperately   Because the truth so appals:   I've gone and pissed thirty years   Up against a wall.      The fingers that knot my tie   Are fat with some success;   But they tremble - still so slightly,   So far only I notice:   In the far off wilderness   A lone hyena calls:   I've gone and pissed thirty years   Up against a wall.      Off I go to the men's room   For the seventh time today:   My bladder no longer hears me,   No matter what I say.   I count the tiles in front of me,   And wait as the trickle falls:   I've gone and pissed thirty years   Up against a wall.