Tomorrow

Fourteen years, one month ago, I sat here at my interview

You promised me promotion, said "A bright future ahead of you"

But as the months and years have passed it seems you have forgotten

And now my passion for this job's gone mouldy, cold and rotten

That's why tomorrow I'll hand my notice in

There'll be no sorrow, don't even think you'll notice if

Tomorrow, I'm gonna sh*t in your bin

And probably I'll scan my breasts and make four hundred copies

And leave them all around your desk and office

Then I'm gonna sh*t in your bin