Why can’t I be a bureaucrat

So tender, meek and mild?

And follow you all through your days

And bear your paper child?

 

Why can’t I sit down at that desk

And wile away my time?

Attending meetings, conference call

And earn productive dime.

 

I’d get it all so nice and neat

I’d get it down on time.

And when the day is nearly through

I’d spend my goodly dime.

 

On barrel-busting drink and food

On stuffing my old craw,

And look away each time I think

My God, My God, My God.

 

Why can’t I be a bureaucrat?

Deny myself the pleasure,

Of ever doing as I please

My unproductive leisure.

 

I’d embarrass you, my sloven mess

I’d make you think I’m wild.

You’d hardly recognize the one who bore

Your loveless paper child.