Days have past, sitting at this typewriter
Typing the same shit because I'm a psycho
Type all day, go to the bar at night
Talk with the bartender as he pours a flight
It's snowing outside and hasn't stopped
My family and I are unfortunately stuck
In this hotel while the blizzard blows past
Yet this typewriting wizard is still typing fast
Pages stacking up
Rage building up
Bar filling my cup
No play for this fuck
No play for me
No play for jack, me
Jack works hard
All work and no play
Hard work all day
There is my wife checking my typewriter
I wonder how I should go and talk to her?
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