Everyone praises to the sky high-tech
not me---the **** thing knows no tact--
a slight mistake you make
serious offence it does take
it gets into a rage--immediately-
it shuts you out--without mercy
you start to sweat, panic and say:
Dear High-Tech, show pity, don't go away
it's arrogant and relentless like none other
though you might be at the end of your tether
My mean boss Mr Farthing Cross comes along and does yell
why take so long--what the hell
are you doing?  Do you want the sack, Mr Slow?
and how could I reply: my computer has given me a blow?
How could I not blame the Industrial Revolution
that has caused all this chaos without compunction?

Let me just say this:  high-tech I detest
it would just cause everyone untold sorrow and unrest

and now comes Mr Cross
'  You're sacked......'--well he's the boss!