July 27, 2014
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Give me a second I,
I need to get my story straight,
My fiancé’s in the kitchen baking a pie that’s greater than the great,
My mother she keep’s blabbing me, on-and-on continuously,
My work papers’ are piled up high, like a mountain to the sky, and
I know this sounds weirdly crazy,
I know you’ll never understand,
But even with a caring mother,
Even with a chef like brother,
The job I got just don’t seem right,
My next desk bro’ know all to know
My boss got wrong eyes and say
I don’t know
The cleaner lady looks’ like miss diva,
The gardener can sure make a star
While the security will wipe you out
With that ole’ he’ hi’ ho’ opera voice
But my you do know
That I can throw
A jazz when I need it
For the boss don’t mind
No the rest don’t care
They’ll all join in to the fire ball fair

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