Whose shop this is I'm sure I know,
I saw him spending bonus dough.
He does not care that I am here,
To write ten ads before I go.
My art director must think it queer,
That our days are filled with dread and fear,
Our workload's crushing, the ads we make,
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his In-Design a shake,
To ask if there is some mistake,
The only other sound's the sweep,
CEO bonus brought in with a rake.
The agency's lonely, dark and deep,
But I am trying my job to keep,
Make ads to go before I sleep,
Make ads to go before I sleep.