I stoked up this morning--
The fun was on.
Turned off the music and had to say:
"That shlock, guys, sucked;
It's a make-ill-ya song."
They moaned, "Goodbye" and drifted away.

It's mordant I'm feeling
When I hear that gross song with a douche bray
(Mordant I'm feeling),
So I start demeaning
(I start demeaning)
Fans of Mariah's cant any day,
The fan's of Mariah's crap any day.

So many colleagues have quickly gone. . .
Avert their faces as they walk by,
But I never stall, and I maunder on;
I jeer at jagoff Kenny G, sax guy.

It's mordant I'm feeling,
So I jeer and have the wrong things to say
(Mordant I'm feeling).
So I start demeaning
(I start demeaning)
Fans of Madonna's cant any day,
The fan's of Madonna's crap any day.

Never tire, don't think, just scold.
I deride the music they always play.
I beam to a girl: "You floozy 'ho';
She pokes my eyes in a Howard way,
A Howard way.

It's Moe-dent she's feeling,
So she jeers and has some strong things to bray
(Moe rant she's squealing),
Then she is dealing
Words unappealing,
And she has some wounding things to say:
"Imbecile," "chucklehead," "pick two," "hey!"

[fade on sounds of face-slapping, eye-gouging, etc., punctuated by groans of pain]