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 And when I make your coffee in the morning Well you may be surprised to find I've poured in Half a gallon of diluted chlorine And all the laxatives that I can get my hands on And don't you worry in the fax machine is acting rather funny It's probably cos I've filled it up with curry That I'm eating out of a tin And when I tell the managing director Of all the times I've seen you disrespect her I'll leave photos on the overhead projector That I have edited but claim to have discovered Of you and that girl Julie in the stationery cupboard I'm gonna drive in and park my car so you're completely blocked in Then I might even smash your front headlights in Then I'm gonna sh*t in your bin But for today, I'll nod when asked if everything's ok Well what the hell am I supposed to say? Tomorrow, that I plan to defecate In your wastepaper basket? You'll wish you never asked it You patronising bastard I'm gonna drive in and park my car so you're completely blocked in And I might even smash your f***ing lights in And I'll be so trolleyed on gin, Mr Harrison I'm gonna sh*t in your bin I'm gonna sh*t in your bin You might want to let some fresh air in Cos I'm eating curry from a tin And I'm gonna sh*t in your bin