| Lyrics: | gonna tell you a story
of some kind of a breakfast conspiracy
breakfast in bed,
sir?
breakfast in bed, sir?
ah, no thanks, not today
in fact, I'd far rather be
sitting in a distinctly upright position
so that I may at least have the ghost of a chance to
digest
what I don't mind telling you
is completely inedible slop
lovingly and
habitually prepared and served
by the thugs and vagabonds
who are the so-called staff of
this institution
finished with the menu, sir? [x4]
yes, yes, I shall enjoy soft cakes,
toast, tea, scrambled eggs,
strawberry jam...
mind you, I can't complain, before I came
here I thought
scrambled eggs were supposed to be brown and crispy at the bottom
and dull
yellow at the top
my mother, god bless her, cannot boil a fucking kettle
without burnin
the water inside
When I came here it's a different story, you know, oh yes,
a whole
different deck of cards...
scrambled eggs arrive with the consistency of a moth swimming
about
in a foul yellow liquid
I wonder where that came from?
I would like to put
forth my theory
my own inside story, if you will
you wanted to know what I think
I
think that every morning as we sleep
our beloved kitchen staff gathers around the scrambled
eggs
like some pagan cult offering homage to a false icon
first, the head chef, the cult
leader, ritualistically stands on an
institutional chair, opens the fly of
his
institutional trousers, pulls out his
institutional willy, and urinates in our
breakfast.
HA HA HA!
they're just a bunch of loonies, what do they care?
half the
bloody time they end up throwing it on the floor
or worse still, at each other...
- |
