My dog, she likes to trip me,
She lays right behind the door;
My socks, they long for freedom,
I will find them ‘cross the floor

My job, it tries to kill me
With a pressure most intense:
My spammers don’t speak English
And they don’t make any sense

I read posts on this blog
That I do not remember writing;
And bags of Wavy Lays
I must admit I find inviting

My income’s short of where I’d like
By sixteen million bucks;
My spammers don’t speak English
And their sentence structure sucks

And so I ask indulgence
While I bitch and whine and moan,
My dog is drooling on my foot
My boss is on the phone

I should be grateful for my life
And spin things graciously:
My spammers don’t speak English
But they write me faithfully