There goes another shitty day,
I’m on the way back home,
On another shitty bus,
Where babies scream and choke,
Where the engine drone is loud enough
To almost mask the jokes,
And the loud and penetrating tones,
Of the stupids at the back.
Where strange old men expectorate,
And smell extremely bad,
And I hunch into my lumpy seat,
And try to tune it out,
Another shitty day has gone,
And left me feeling crap,
But I’m going home to meet the cats,
Who’ll greet me at the door,
And I’m going to have a cup of tea,
And sit and have a chat,
And hope that someone else will cook,
And pour some Chateaux Plonk,
And maybe if I’m really good,
And don’t abuse or maim,
The folk who ride the shitty bus,
Somebody at home,
Will poke and squeeze and soften up,  
The muscles in my back,
And make me think that it was worth,
The shitty bus and shitty job,
And all the shitty, crappy stuff,
That really ticks me off.
And then I’ll watch telly.