By Peter fiero1985@yahoo.com
Date: 5 January 2001
No 9 to 5
Liquid money flows your way.
False screams of passion in strange men's arms.
You know how to play the game,
cuz you won't work that 9 to 5.
Rejected for your views on life,
you wonder cold dark streets,
searching out those lonely men-
to open thier pants and wallets deep,
cuz you'll never work that 9 to 5.
Your friends say you're crazy,
but they go to concentration camp jobs.
Behind thier office bars they rot thier youth away,
as they silently watch the world go by.
You are free
no one to obey
many different parts to play.
To one you were his little girl,
another you're a forrest queen,
one time you were a temptress, cruel.
No two days are the same,
no desk to rot away
all of this to delay,
that dreaded 9 to 5.
You set your own hours,
pay your own bills,
the government don't help you love.
Sure you may not live past today.
Sure you may die some horrible way,
but you would do anything to avoid,
that DREADED 9 to 5
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