You’re so far behind, you think you’re winning.
No turn of phrase is quite so thrilling,
As one that comes from your mouth.
You define north from south.
Your proclamations of the hour
Make the newest even nower.
You takes your phrase and makes it yours.
Never bound by trivial chores as
Building bricks and fixing floors.
You’re busy rearranging words,
Verbal consultant to ten herds
Of other people just like you,
Who lap it up, and they do.
When you say that they’re positioned
Flattered ‘til you’re sure they’ve listened.
The competition’s running flat,
Number one is where it’s at.
You’ve made them look just like you
But knowing there’s no room for two,
In this race you call your own,
A career that makes me want to moan.
For what you’ve done is drinks and coke,
So far gone you think you wrote
Even this cutting piece
That tells of how you always fleece
The ones you smile at in your club.
Shoulders touching when you rub
Your ego shining bright and dry
Every evening getting high.
Then, back home in your bed
You dream of everything you said.
And the price of every word
Just makes it all the more absurd.
Reality, every morning
Your life is very truly boring.
You’re overweight and off the pace
And really think you’ll win the race.
Breathe in, chest out, keep on grinning.
So far behind you think you’re winning.