The Postman

Everyday it gets worse
It never gets better
Running house to house
Getting wet and wetter.

Sometimes in the cold
Or in a snow storm
Can't see too good
Can't get too warm.

What about the heat
As the sun cooks the skin
You'd rather be nude
And wear only a grin.

Every step I take
A dog will hide and wait
Ready to take a chunk
Or make my leg it's mate.

The people just don't know
Only there to complain
I smile like a fool
But disgruntled in the brain.

In the lobby they gather
Like an angry mob
They think life is perfect
but I hate my job.

I hate my job
I hate my life
I hate my boss
I hate my wife.

I hate my job
I hate my jeep
I hate my house
I hate my keep.

I hate my job
I hate my race
I hate my religion
I hate my face.

I hate my job
I hate my clothes
I hate my highs
I hate my lows.

Hey it is not all bad
I am happy to say
I like that I am off
Each President's Day.