I scrape my food from a polyvinyl tray

I think about the process and I crack every day

Five minutes for the Postal Office

Five minutes for the nation

In five minutes I'll plod back to my station



Its time for you to meet the other me

The one that wants you dead

I'll punch in your numbers and I'll print a receipt

And then I'll bash in your head



I kiss your ass and you pay me

But I'm so sick of your policies

I hate being so fucking autocratic

You and me and my semi-automatic