[Intro: Mr. Burns & Mr. Smithers]
Smithers
Hm?
Turn on the surveillance monitors
Yes, sir!
Hm, it's worse than I thought

[Verse 1: Mr. Burns]
Each morning at nine, they trickle through the gate
They go home early, they come in late
Reeking of cheap liquor, they stumble through the day
Never give a thought to honest work for honest pay
I know it shouldn't vex me, I shouldn't take it hard
I know I should ignore their capering with a kingly disregard, but

[Chorus: Mr. Burns]
Look at all those idiots, oh, look at all those boobs
An office full of morons, a factory full of fools
Is it any wonder that I'm singing, singing the blues?

[Verse 2: Mr. Burns]
They make personal phone calls on company time
They Xerox their buttocks and guess who pays the dime!
Their blatant thievery wounds me their ingratitude astounds!
I long to lure them to my home and then release the hounds!
I shouldn't grow unsettled when faced with such abuse
I shouldn't let it plague me, I shouldn't blow a fuse, but
[Chorus: Mr. Burns]
Look at all those idiots, oh, look at all those boobs
An office full of morons, a factory full of fools
Is it any wonder that I'm singing, singing the blues?

[Breakdown: Mr. Burns & Mr. Smithers]
What happened? Where are the instruments?
I believe they call this a breakdown, sir
I can't have any breakdowns here!
What if there was an inspector around?
Play a guitar solo
Oh, I'm a little out of practice, sir
I said, "Do it!" So, do it, do it, do it
Yes, sir
(Guitar Solo)
Ah-ha
Hahaha
Yes, excellent, well done
All right, it's beginning to grate
That'll be sufficient, Smithers
Excuse me?
I said, that's enough!
Oh! Sorry, sir
Thought I had my mojo working
Humph
That man by the cooler drinking water, as if it's free
Oh, that's Homer Simpson, sir
A drone from sector 7-G
Yes, well, call this Simpson to my office and stay to watch the fun
If he's six feet when he enters, he'll be two feet when I'm done
Hahahaha
It brings a ray of sunshine to my unhappy life
To make him kneel before me and slowly twist the knife
[Chorus: Mr. Burns, Mr. Smithers]
Look at all those idiots, oh, look at all those boobs
An office full of morons, a factory full of fools
Is it any wonder that I'm singing, singing the blues?
Take me home, sir
I'm trying
Surrounded by idiots, outnumbered by boobs
An office full of morons, a planet full of fools
Is it any wonder, I'm singing
(Maybe you should be singing, sir) Oh, singing the blu-u-ues

[Outro: Mr. Smithers, Mr. Burns]
Look at all those idiots
Mr. Burns, you, you make Muddy Waters sound shallow and cheerful by comparison (An office full of morons)
Thank you, Smithers
Meaningless, but, heartfelt compliment (Is it any wonder)
I feel like I got a few things off my chest
And onto the chests of my inferiors
You did (Look at all those idiots)
Why are they still playing?
Um... (Office full of morons)
They're not still on salary, are they?
We're not validating their parking, sir (Is it any wonder)
They're playing for their own coffee, now