The terminally bored sit around with nothing to do
They say work is hell, Heaven knows it just ain't true
Well you can punch out your boss, get fired from your job
Collect unemployment for your own enjoyment
Take out the trash, come down with a rash, hiccup and sneeze
Have donuts and coffee with colonel Qadhafi
Write a new novel that's perfectly awful
Buy some new work boots and stomp on a waffle or two
Take a long overdue vacation
Book yourself on a flight to the moon
Volunteer for a brain operation
Don't let nobody tell you that there's nothin' to do

Well, you can jump off a roof, pretend you can fly
Maybe you'll bounce; maybe you'll die
Maybe you'll splat and flap until that
Well, you can practice your bongo, go to the Congo
Get lost on safari, ask "Where the hell are we?"
Speak in Swahili, they tell me that a lot of them do

Talk on the phone, call up the coast
Call 'em collect, dial direct
Reverse the charges if they accept
They're home
Or you can go overseas, speak Japansese
Buy a new Sony, they make great TVs
Do the Watusi, watch "I Love Lucy" too

But don't let nobody tell you that there's nothin' to do
Well, well, well, well, well, well
Don't let nobody tell you that there's nothin' to d