words: Justan O. Thereditor

(tune:  The Happy Farmer)

Come all you commuters
Who are slaves to computers,
      and we'll order a couple martinis
For a lunch of hard liquor
Makes the day go by quicker
     when all your coworkers are wienies
Leaving well after five
We will finally arrive
     back at home in the twilight glowing
Sitting down with a glass
We're contented at last
     'til our wives say "The grass needs a mowing."

CHORUS:
I have lawns that are large
And a three-car garage
     where the neighbor kids seldom disturb ya
So all corporate execs
Overworked, undersexed
     here's to life and success in suburbia.

I work eight hours a day
And drive two more each way
     so my family and I aren't real close
Cause it's twelve hours per diem
That I don't have to see 'em
     and on weekends I'm gen'rally comatose
So, my fellow stuffed suits
When you've done your commutes
     come on by for some brewskies at my place
We can sit in my den
And watch ESPN
     tell my wife "Keep the kids out of my face."

CHORUS

All those rednecks and hicks
Who live out in the sticks
     I don't envy them, not even slightly
For disposable wealth
Is worth wrecking your health
     and the migraines you get almost nightly.
And if chronic depression's
The price of success an'
     true happiness, then I can bear it
When on Father's Day I
Get another green tie
     and my wife tells me I have to wear it.

CHORUS


copyright 1995  Thomas Baxter