Look at All Those Idiots

Smithers

Hm?

Turn on the surveillance monitors

Yes, sir!

It's worse than I thought
Each morning at nine, they trickle through the gate
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
Oh, 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
Oh, look at all those boobs
An office full of morons
A factory full of fools
Is it any wonder 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, I'm singing the blu-u-ues

Look at all those idiots

Mr. Burns, you, you make Muddy Waters
Sound shallow and cheerful by comparison

An office full of morons

Thank you, Smithers
Meaningless but heartfelt compliment

Is it any wonder

I feel like I got a few things off my chest
And onto the chests of my inferiors

You did

Look at all those idiots

Why are they still playing?

Um...

Office full of morons

They're not still on salary, are they?

We're not validating their parking, sir

Is it any wonder

They're paying for their own coffee