The c*nt with the gut and the Buzz Lightyear haircut Callin' all the workers plebs You better think about the future You better think about your neck You better think about the sh** hairdo you got mate I work my dreams off for two bits of ravioli And a warm bottle of Smirnoff Under a manager that doesn't have a f**in' clue Do you want me to tell you what I think about you, c*nt? I don't think that's a very good ideaâ€”do you? You pockmarked four-eyed sh**-fitted shirt, white Converse And a taste for young girls Don't send me home with a glint in my eye I told my family about the f**in' wage rise And got f**ed on Devoured Puked on And s**ed up You f**in' fly The suction on your fly feet Kept me pinned to the blinds Whilst your PA rattled out e-mails Workstation, forced to engage in flirtatious conversation Fizzy * 3 Well just to keep the job Just to keep f** all from turning into a f**in' nothin' blob Bang it out; go on tell me what you really think You got no chin; an' you got no balls to chin 'em with Gla** panel separate you The mint price Handwash from the bin of used Public toilet paper towels We run foul of the hidden hatred That festers in dogs like you Tripwire taut that makes way for the vacuum Ya piece of f**in' sh** My name: Fizzy! [* 3] You should sh** (?) your promise in the red shoes of Dorothy Blank tart 'er on the bed of thick monotony With the usual stereotypes that fall for the lip I f**in' hate rockers; f** your rocker sh** f** your progressive side sweeper tattoos Oompa Loompa blow me down with a feather Broken dagger bottleneck Fizzy! [* 3] Ahhhh!!