Fit For The Job
Why did you make me so shit, Lord?
Why did you make me so lame?
Sorry for sounding ungrateful
but there's nobody else I can blame.
Why did you not make me perfect?
Tall, dark and handsome and strong,
with genitals like a rhinoceros,
would it really have been so wrong?
Why did you not give me genius?
Or charm? Or charisma? Or grace?
Or courage? Or good DIY skills?
Would it have been that out of place?
Why did you never inspire me
to write a hit novel or tune?
Or to stick a dead shark in formaldehyde?
Would that be asking the moon?
You must understand at this juncture
it's not for myself I complain,
but being a failure fails everyone else
and that's what's tormenting my brain.
So why did you make me so shit, Lord?
So ineffectual a knob.
I could have been such a great geezer
if you'd made me fit for the job.