mr. blue collar joe
don't you know
won't even listen to Springsteen
on my high tech stereo
my working class stiff
workin class stiff
trying to get ahead
sweat sweat
my ditch digger
I want your muscles torn
tell me bout your package
display a thick portfolio
I need stocks and bonds to hold me
pack some platinum annuities
before you even get close to me
twice as easy to love a rich man
if I can hire back here please
my working class stiff
working class stiff
trying to get head
sweat sweat
my ditch digger
I want your muscles torn
what's the blue book
on your sweet ride
best be an exotic import
before you qualify my escort
how tight is your mechanic
and dirty is his nails
my working class stiff
working class stiff
sweat sweat
my ditch digger
I want your muscles torn
corner office
but a stepping stone
pent house top floor
is were I want my money maker to roam
the donalds brain oh so appealing
but it's the maintenance man's glo
got my senses reeling
"...poolboy fill me up..."
my working class stiff
working class stiff
trying to get ahead
sweat sweat
my ditch digger
I want your muscles torn
don't want your name on your shirt
or desk
best on the building
at least the letterhead
three little words I long to hear
chief executive office
make you my hearts thief
make your grunts dance for me....
my working class stiff
working class stiff
trying to get ahead
sweat sweat
my ditch digger
I want your muscles torn
"is that your roll or are you just happy to see me?..."
my ditch digger
I want your muscles torn
yeah
this song written for our road construction season and dedicated to the mancandy holding the "slow" signs and buttcrack foremen smart enough to give them the opportunity to brighten my commune time. thank you company owners for being able to afford a woman like me who is able to write such nonsense as I drive
3 comments:
mancandy! Haw! I love it! unfortunately, all the signholders\flagwavers around here are either women or skinny little rednecks with a mullet.
ok, on another note, my blog has moved due to the tender sensibilities of my 17 yr old son.
http://beacuseitspersonal.blogspot.com/
mispelling is intentional, you can understand that :o)
Ode to the naked proletariat, er, how politically correct of you!
Out here in Kalifornia the flag-persons are all lumpy blonde haired women with hardhats and orange reflective vests – and I’m sorry, but that look just doesn’t do it for me! Though their tool belts still drag their levis down exposing the crack of their asses, and I am only too sure that after beating me at arm wrestling I’d have to buy the next round of shots!
Hmmmm, nope, not the same as what you just wrote!
By putting someone worth looking at holding the "stop" sign on the road crew makes one forget all about road rage when sitting in my jeep. Who ever is in charge of that company got his head on straight. Our summer vacation might be spent this summer with the boys and my digital camera. We will road trip around and they can get their pic's snapped with the numours statues of deer and fish in this state and I will the buff shirtless man-babies. Or I will pick fights with the unattractive ones and the kids can get snaps of me throwing it down."...here's mom vrs. lumpy thoothless she-male, K1 on top of Willy Walleye...."
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