It's the oldest game in
the book
The way the boss-man has of giving that look
That would kill, leaves a chill, but a thrill when I will
See him downsized out of his job.
Ev'ry morning, every night
An hour and a half of the same highway fight
Car horn sounds get me down, traffic all over town
It's a mob scene -- and all for a job.
People ask me sometimes,
"Why do it at all?"
And I have to answer, "What if I should fall? I've got benefits!"
Every other Friday I find
That little paycheck, if they remembered to sign
Holding tax to the max, pretty hard to relax
When the rent's due Monday by nine.
Now I've earned the right
to be ill anytime
Just as long as you can get Them on the line, well ahead of time
Feels like it's a form
of attack
To kill myself working just to cover my back
Overtime's overlooked, and the boss is a crook
It's the oldest game in the book.
