Monday, I suppose

White van man, get a dirtier van,

Your reflections are blinding me

And the early morning sun

Is giving me a wist for my bed

Woman in the wolf-pictured fleece

Calling your bungalow 'Rivendell'

Is the reason those children

Throw eggs at your door

John in the ditch sulking in vomit

Your drinking days are destroying you

Go home to your bed and cry

If you can remember how

Lady in the Queue stop chatting and

GET TO THE FUCKING POINT

The cashier just wants to do her job

Not hear about your children's achievements

Hairy lady, I appreciate your administrations

I got into this mess myself admitted

And now I'm here I'll stay

Till the transaction is done