See over there, in that beige swivel chair
There’s a bald guy of twenty named Kevin
Eats cold soup from the can/ a tattoo on his hand reads
“Mum Rest In Peace 97”
And sometimes for fun he says “I’ve got a gun
I might bring it to work just for training”
He told me his wife took her life with his knife
But he’s glad cos it stopped her complaining.
Jill’s 28, she is quite overweight
And completely obsessed with beyonce
She wears a huge ring she refers to as “bling”
Given to her by her fat fiancé
Each day’s spent dreading she’ll mention the wedding
She talks like she’s circular breathing
The staff have a hunch that she steals all their lunch
From the kitchenette fridge as she’s leaving
Thank the Lord for call centres
Senior management’s monitoring
It always too bright there, George Orwell’s worst nightmare
Fight if you want but you’re not going to win
It’s a mediocrity circus
All of us are non-unionised workers
Thanks the Lord for call centres
Non compliance is sin
You can fight but you’re not gonna win
Michael’s the guy all staff member’s despise
He’s exactly the shape of a boulder
A moronic bloke whose idea of a joke
Is resting his cock on your shoulder
No one includes him- a sex life eludes him
He’s master of social embarrassment
An email he forwarded is so fucking sordid
They charged him sexual harassment
Susan’s devotion has earned a promotion
She studied the brown-noser’s manual
Each time you see the supervisor young Susan’s beside her
Like some tragic whore cocker-spaniel
Get in her path and she’ll rip you in half
It’s no wonder that everyone hates her
The staff kitty’s up to four hundred bucks
For the employee who assassinates her
Thank the Lord for call centres
Living off food from a vending machine
Plugged into the phone you’re a workaday drone
No longer human, now you’re a machine
Not enough will or cash for a night course
The corporation’s sucking your life force
Thank the Lord for call centres
Everyone’s living the dream
Make sure your coffee mug’s clean
Some say the earth is round
So you can’t see too much of the road where you’re going
This corporate Merry-Go-Round
Doesn’t show too many signs that it’s slowing
Why am I pushing this shit up this hill to live?
This job is sucking my own fucking will to live
No money, no savings, no future, no dreams
Who could survive this relentless routine?
Where it’s traffic/ ten hour day/ traffic/ television
Traffic/ ten hour day/ traffic/ television
Junk food/ boredom/ advertisements/ credit cards
Pay the rent/ find a girl/ marry then settle down
Watch shit and read shit and take shit and eat shit
Then shit it all out and WON’T SOMEBODY PLEASE JUST FUCKING SHOOT ME!!!
Thank the Lord for call centres
Looks like they’re here to stay
Three cheers
Three cheers
Three cheers
Hip hip… Hooray
Hip hip… Hooray!
Hip hip… Hooray!!!!
