Well I wake up in the morning at 11:47
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And I can't believe I have to face the horror of another fucking day
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And the magnificent magnitude of my morning erection
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Merely mocks me like the sun in it's optimistic greeting of the day
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Managing to manifest a modicum of motivation
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I meander to the kitchen make a mission out of mixing Nescafe
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But the milk is going off and coffee by itself is bitter
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And there's ants all through the sugar and the supermarket's miles a-fucking-way
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My life is pretty sad
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But I know that I should be glad
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I could be a starving Ethiope
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Or a policeman in Baghdad
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Policeman in Baghdad
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Bagdad
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At 11:53 I instigate the day's ablutions
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In the hope my constitution can be altered by some action on the bowl
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But the total non-existence of colonic animation
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Seems to me the perfect metaphor for the utter constipation of my soul
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By 11:59 I have decided that my life would be immediately improved
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By a carefully written list of short-term goals
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But by 12.05 my list consists of one-dot put some pants on
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Two-dot go to the shop, buy some prunes and Panadol
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My life is pretty shit
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But I know I shouldn't whinge about it
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I could be a Palestinian
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Driving buses on the Gaza strip
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Yeah how bad can it be?
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Some people have it worse than me
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I could be an Ipswich prostitute
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Or Gary Glitter's family
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I have no right to cry
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Some people have it worse than I
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I could be a thalidomide kid
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With something in my eye
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Something in my eye
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My eye
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At 12:30 I realise I'm feeling so dejected
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That I've totally neglected the beginning of the Jerry Springer show
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So I settle on the sofa try to focus an iota of my motor-neurons
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On the brilliant insights for which Jerry is known
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And although on any other day a show entitled "Midgets, Midgets, Midgets"
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Would excite me like a virgin at her year eleven ball
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Today those little jelly-wrestling fellas fail to free me of my misery
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Instead they simply serve to make me feel three foot tall
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But how bad can it be?
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Some people have it worse than me
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I could be a junior life saver
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On a Banda Aceh beach
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Or a woman in afghanistan
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Or a Jew in the Klu Klutz Klan
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Or the architect of the World Trade Centre
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Or a bobcat driver in Bam Iran
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I could have my identity mistaken
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As a bomber in an underground station
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I could be a peace-loving speech-writer
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In George W's administration
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Yeah, I know that I don't have the right
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To be unhappy with my life
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I could be Hitlers mother
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Or Shane Warne's wife
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Yeah, I know that I shouldn't be bitchin'
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I could be in a worse position
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I could be a 3-nippled naturopath
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In the days of the Spanish
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In the Spanish inquisition
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I know I have no right, no right to cry
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Some people have it much, much worse than I
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I could have a serious nut allergy
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And be shipwrecked on an island with a crate of Snickers bars,
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A jar of Nutella and a fresh baked pecan pie
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Some people have it worse than I!
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Some People Have It Worse Than Me
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| Tim Minchin |
