Well I wake up in the morning
At 11:47
And I can't believe I have to face
The horror of another fucking day

And the magnificent magnitude
Of my morning erection
Merely mocks me like the sun
In its optimistic greeting of the day

Managing to manifest
A modicum of motivation
I meander to the kitchen
Make a mission out of mixing Nescafé

But the milk is going off
And coffee by itself is bitter
And there's ants all through the sugar
And the supermarket's miles-a-fucking-way

My life is pretty sad
But I know that I should be glad
I could be a starving Ethiope
Or a policeman in Baghdad

At 11:53
I instigate the day's ablutions
In the hope my constitution
Can be altered by some action on the bowl
But the total non-existence
Of colonic animation
Seems to me the perfect metaphor
For the utter constipation of my soul

By 11:59
I have decided that my life
Would be Immediately improved
By a carefully written list of short-term goals

But by 12:05 my list consists of
One dot: put some pants on
Two dot: go to the shop
Buy some prunes and Panadol

My life is pretty shit
But I know I shouldn't whinge about it
I could be a Palestinian
Driving buses on the Gaza Strip

Yeah, how bad can it be?
Some people have it worse than me
I could be a Ipswich prostitute
Or Gary Glitter's family

I have no right to cry
Some people have it worse than I
I could be a thalidomide kid
With something in my eye
At 12:30 I realise
I'm feeling so dejected
That I've totally neglected
The beginning of the Jerry Springer show

So I settle on the sofa
Try to focus an iota
Of my motor neurons on the
Brilliant insights for which Jerry is known

And although on any other day
A show entitled 'Midgets Midgets Midgets!'
Would excite me like a virgin
At her year eleven ball

Today those little jelly-wresting
Fellows fail to free me of my
Misery, instead they simply
Serve to make me feel three foot tall

But how bad can it be?
Some people have it worse than me
I could be a junior lifesaver
On a Banda Aceh beach

Or a woman in the Taliban
Or a Jew in the Ku Klux Klan
Or the architect of the World Trade Centre
Or a morturist in Mianyang
I could have my identity mistaken
As a bomber in an underground station
I could be a peace-loving speech writer
In George W's administration

Yeah I know that I don't have the right
To be unhappy with my life
I could be Hitler's mother
Or Shane Warne's wife

And you know that I shouldn't be bitching
I could be in a worse position
I could be a 3-nippled naturopath
In the days of the Spanish inquisition

I know I have no right to cry
Some people have it much much worse than I
I could have a serious nut allergy
And be shipwrecked on an island
With a crate of Snickers bars
A jar of Nutella and a fresh baked pecan pie
Some people have it worse than I