We perform empty tasks to protect the status quo of the one percent
Hell-bent on endless wealth multiplication and profit enlargement
The fruit of our labor is trickling bottom-up on the escarpment
We’re the indentured workers who slave for money just to pay our rent
“It’s the economy, stupid” preaches Donald Trump who knows how to scare
a tea-bagger’s dumbed-down version of the Thatcherite nightmare
the impoverished masses are the mainstay of Keynesian stalemate
but economic meaning and sense is eroded at an ever quicker rate
Banksy sprays his lanky graffiti on dank walls to remind us
Of the horror and the crimes committed on the road behind us
Nobody files for moral bankruptcy yet, we feel dampened, mindless
It’s like in the world of our jobs there’s no place for kindness
Ref.:
This is the bullshit jobs, this is the bullshit jobs
We’re living in a void under a sky that never drops
Any unexpected move means someone calls the cops
So you do as they say coz the money never stops
We are consumer demand, we are the bullshit, we are the brand
we’re unwittingly promoting the men that will go to the bitter end
in order to pile up their bullshit they would sell mother Mary
and they expect us to sit back and be entertained by Kathy Perry
Identity is forced on us: multisyllabic job titles echo sonority
We’re wasting our time at the coffee machine and we’re the majority
What happened since our sorority was discussing usury and perjury?
What lulled us to sleep was it the maculate, manufactured fear of penury?
The labor is debilitating, mentally annihilating, castrating
We get home feeling empty, exploited by the machine we’re hating
By the self-anointed, pointless oyster munching motherfuckers
Then bury our faces in the pillow coughing up beta blockers
(Ref.)
We’ve become a colony of white zombies with the voice of Bob Dylan
We ignore each other and melt common sense in our metaphorical kiln
But no more! Bullshit jobbers unite, since we coalesce as the willing
If we can awaken our bloody brains we can sideline the villains
Corporate lawyers, lobbyists, tax advisers, bullfighters
Imbecile content creators, sellers of Viagra advertisements
Parking ticket writers, desk-sitters, Monsanto patent watchdogs,
Extreme wealth managers, paparazzi scooping on Amanda Knox
The bullshit has risen to biblical proportions
Society becomes a caricature with risible distortions
Our generation is tried with afflictions like Hiob
– Would he not question the Lord on his bullshit job?
(Ref.)
“Acquisition related amortization of purchased intangibles”
Occupy your brain, along with other fancy financial inflammables
All coz you need the cash and you know you ain’t gonna be able
To ever release your cynical lamentation on a record label
We’re all experts on Foucault and Chomsky and manufactured consent
I wrote a PhD on pre-Victorian English prose that was meant
To be the beginning of an exhilarating literary ascent
But now I only compose tweets to ventilate my dead-end rant
The system’s so lopsided the people will stop to abide in 2 decades tops
When the force awakens we’ll walk to our co-ops in our flip-flops
But in its death throes the elite is trying to prevent the angry mobs
by rolling out the bullshit, rolling out the bullshit jobs
What the world really needs doesn’t generate a cash premium
There’s no profit in restoring the planetary equilibrium
It’s impossible to bear, but here we are, braving the tedium
At the very least we have co-created ourselves a medium
(Ref.)
They feed us old myths like trickle down economics
That make us fucking angry like the Hulk in Marvel’s comics
We’re fed up with the occupational bullshit they shove down our throats
But this is the free world so we keep on rockin’ the motherfucking boats
Heuristics eclipses advanced human assessment in every nation
No advanced degree is safe from relentless automation
Future workers can remain in their docking station
It’s a tedious Matrix situation, we fear the implication
We’re hooked on the mortgage, credit card debt and a payday loan
We call for a shrink but we get one of us on the phone
Another depressive soul wasting his life in a call center
While she’s probably more brilliant than Craig Venter
Stop the madness, too many rad masters got plastered
Their howling genius reverberates like a mad Stratocaster
Be prepared for the bullshit job iconoclast,
We know no master –
Mooi geschreven!