now here's a little song,
about akitchen porters job i have,
i work with some twits,
crackheads, sex deprived old mothers and chavs,
safety boots hurt my feet,
in this resturant of broken dreams,
while you are asleep,
i'm still scrubbing pots and i work alone,

i work alone,
i work alone,
i work alone
i work a...

my boss is always standing right behind me,
the chef is always asking 'where's my ladel?',
sometimes i just wish i could win the lottery,
'til then i work alone,

and when it's finish time,
it's time to share the tips- it's a crime,
i can't get any of the loot,
'cos i don't deal with guests,
well then, that's just fine,
that makes them some tax avioding cheats,
now whens my break time,
so i can have some lunch and charge up my phone,

i smell cologne,
i smell cologne,
i smell cologne,
i smell co...

that waiter's sprayed on too much lynx deodrant,
that waitress shows her clevage to earn more tips and,
while they just talk about last weekends party,
i'm still working alone,

i feel alone
i feel alone,

ok,while i'm still sane,
i'm still washing up with broken dreams,
i'm working with creeps,
and i sure hate my job and i smell cologne,

the baked-on cheese sauce won't come of this bain marie,
it appears the dishwashers started leaking,
sometimes i wish someone would try to kill me,
i've never felt so low....