Look At All Those Idiots (The Simpsons)

Smithers, turn on the surveillance cameras Yes sir, it's worse than I thought Each morning at nine, they trickle through the gates They go home early, they come in late Reeking of cheap liquor they stumble through the day Never give a thought to honest work for honest pay I know it shouldn't vex me, I shouldn't take it hard I know I should ignore their capering with a kingly disregard, but Look at all those idiots Ooh, look at all those boobs An office full of morons, a factory full of fools Is it any wonder that I'm singing, singing the blues They make personal phone calls On company time They Xerox their buttocks And guess who pays the dime Their blatant thievery wounds me Their ingratitude astounds I long to lure them to my home And then release the hounds I shouldn't grow unsettled When faced with such abuse I shouldn't let it plague me I shouldn't blow a fuse But, look at all those idiots Ooh, look at all those boobs An office full of morons, a factory full of fools Is it any wonder that I'm singing, singing the blues What happened? Where are the instruments? I believe they call this a breakdown, sir I can't have any breakdowns here What if there was an inspector around? Play a guitar solo Oh, I'm a little out of practice, sir I said do it, so do it, do it, do it Yes sir Yes, excellent Well done All right, it's beginning to grate That'll be sufficient, Smithers Excuse me? I said that's enough Oh, sorry sir Thought I had my mojo working That man by the cooler Drinking water, as if it's free Oh, that's Homer Simpson, sir A drone from sector 7-G Yes, well, call this Simpson to my office And stay to watch the fun If he's 6 feet when he enters He'll be two feet when I'm done It brings a ray of sunshine To my unhappy life To make him kneel before me And slowly twist the knife Look at all those idiots Ohh, look at all those boobs An office full of morons, a factory full of fools Is it any wonder, that I'm singing, singing the blues Take me home, sir I'm trying Surrounded by idiots Outnumbered by boobs An office full of morons, a planet full of fools Is it any wonder, I'm singing Maybe you should be singing, sir, oh, singing the blues (Look at all those idiots) Mr. Burns, you, you make Muddy Waters sound shallow and (An office full of morons) Cheerful, by comparison Thank you, Smithers Meaningless but (Is it any wonder) Heartfelt compliment I feel like I got a few things off my chest And onto the chests of my inferiors You do (Look at all those idiots) Why are they still playing? (Office full of morons) They're not still on salary, are they? We're not validating their parking, sir