There once was a gal from Quebec
Whose boss was a pain in the neck:
     She told him, "I quit
     Cuz I'm sicka yer ****!"
And her boss, he "misplaced" her last check.

what could be harder
getting up before the dawn
beating a lone path

climbing into your cold cab

what could be cooler
sitting high above the snow
clearing a shared path

I'm busy on break
Mind is at stake
Endless work and anxiety from school
Making myself a fool
To do hobbies to be burned out
Continuous counting about
My stitches
Constantly looking if my art needs any stitches
To bring it all together
Just to put it in the corner over there
Just so no one can see my drawings

I'm too busy on break
My wrists need a long break
Yet I can't pull away, it just feels so magnetic
I feel so hectic
I can never catch a single break because of myself
Just so I can put items on the shelf
Waiting to sell out

I want- no- yearn for a break
Yet I'm always busy on my week long breaks
Taking care of things left and right
It feels as if I can barely see the light
I hate it
Dealing with everyone's ****
Is this really the consequences of having a job?
Where I'm being renamed as Bob?
To the point where I'm so tired that I need to move every second so I can get untired?

I'm so ******* exhausted
It feels like I just got deported
Just tie me onto a bed
Make dreams go to my head
Make me go into a deep slumber
Now I don't have to cut timber
Make my muscles relax
Just so I can relax
Just so I can remove my eye bags
Get all the hot rags
And put them on my forehead
Whenever I'm in bed
So this sickness will go away
Just so everything can go away
Remove all the stress on my shoulders
And place them ontop of boulders
See if the boulders would break because of how much weight there would be

hello my pal!
my friend!
my guy!

lets gather round’ the camp for tea
i’ll sing to you my dearest song
if you’ll sit with me for the long

i often don’t see much of you or any
now since i’ve been blue.
the days are running rather thin
i wonder how this could have been.

before i start my silly tune
i must profess a word to you
or several words, i realize now
i hate my job
i often frown.

but do not fret
for its a job
where money is made
yet not for long

i’ll quit this job
i’ll quit it now
i’ll quit tomorrow
how does that sound?

or might i live in misery
with i, with you, this cup of tea!
if this is misery, then please
forgive me but i don’t see
this all seems fairly nice to me,
this all seems fairly nice to me.

teaching is tough
and rough
and cruel

where even some
feel like a fool.

ironic yes, and surely so!
but might i ask
and wont you know?

perhaps you won’t
thats fine with i!

but how come -
teachers want to
cry?