There are a great many things
To accomplish in a day
Without you there, sitting still
And getting in my way

You that little black dot
Among my nice clean white
Are constantly reminding me
That I am not pure bright

You are what is different
Amongst the sterile field
So your fault it must be
On this I will not yeild

Hobos, Slackers, Drunks
You! Are all the same
Always so quick to find
Someone else to blame

Off! Off! You Wretched Spot!
Off my field of white!
Here's a couple dollars bills
Now get thee out of sight!

Get Up! You ***!
You ruining the whole feel
Get Up! Go on, ***!
**** is getting real

Out of sight, Out of mind
Is what I always say
And now back to my grind
I have such a busy day!

I need to move on quickly
From this inconvienent stop
I'm already so behind
From cleaning up your slop