Being Late
BEING LATE
Here we go, I’m late again, and I’m going to miss the bus
I won’t get to work on time, and there’ll be the usual fuss
The alarm forgot to ring, or else I pressed the snooze
A semi-conscious, sleepy state, I’m dazed and I’m confused
The water’s flippin’ freezing, I’ve got shampoo in my hair
The bathroom towel has disappeared and I’m dripping everywhere
I’ve cut myself whilst shaving, and it’s stinging really sore
Because I put on loads of aftershave, which brought me to the floor
I’m hopping round with one sock on, because I stubbed my toe
I fell and woke the wife up, and she told me where to go
I’m pulling on my jumper, now can things get any worse
My heads stuck up the armhole, it’s no wonder that I curse
I’ve stood on something sticky, it’s an aul discarded chew
I want to scream my head off, but I’d wake the child up too
My shoes are on the wrong feet, I can’t take it any more
My zip’s stuck on my underpants, as I stumble out the door
As I finally reach the bus stop, I discover I’ve no phone
I’ve also left my wallet, so I have to go back home
I say good morning to the missus, now she’s up and about
She asks me if I’m going to work, with my trousers inside out
So wake up and get out of bed, or you’ll be in a state
And that crazy morning ritual, which happens when you’re late
Nothing ever runs quite right, when you’re running late for work
So set the clock and don’t sleep in, or you’ll drive yourself berserk
Copyright ©
Leslie Wilson
|