deranged

holdin on  to a job
where i want to  take a baseball bat
to the  fat  customers who  remind me
of my  dad,  still acting solopsistiscally
at advanced  middle aged, still
a  teen. it's the baseball  bat that makes me
psychotic.  not  the how of kowtow ,  a  bow to the 
  now what we  have  here  is a failure
to communicate, a failure to consume
this  reguritated  bloated  fate a stock boy
or a worker b, coporations drown    all equally
so how to  make it to the top without all the gaming  rot
get the key, shape of a gun, plug it  in, make them run.