Work, work, work, work--
Stocking till I go berserk.
I groan and muscles strain
As I work through occasional pain.
I shuffle to the beat
Of my throbbing feet
And sigh as I meet the next task
Sometimes there is so much they ask.
The shoppers drive me insane
When they fail to use their brains.
It is a nuisance when I meet them:
Their wasted brains should instead be eaten.
But I "live" in a form of dread
That, when I open up their heads
I will wonder what the world is coming to
When chips have more nutritional value.
I want to tell them to use their minds:
The answers they seek are on the ****ing signs.
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