From the late great Stan Rogers.


White Collar Holler

Well I rise up every morning bout a quarter til eight,
The woman who's my wife tells me not to be late,
I kiss the kids goodbye, can't remember their names,
And week after week it's always the same.

cho.
It's ho boys, can't you code it Ungh!, program it right,
Nothin ever happens in this life of mine,
I'm hauling up the data on the Xerox line.

And it's code in the date give the keyboard a punch,
Cross correlate and a break for some lunch,
Correlate, tabulate, process and screen,
Program, printout, regress to the mean.

cho.

Then it's home again, eat again, watch some TV,
Make love to my woman at 10:53,
I dream the same dream when I'm sleeping at night,
I'm soaring over hills like an eagle in flight.

cho.

Some day I'm gonna give up all the buttons and things,
Gonna punch that timeclock til it don't ring,
Burn up my necktie and set myself free,
Cause noone's gonna fold, bend, or mutilate me.

cho.