Look at All Those Idiots lyrics

Smithers

Hm?

Turn on the surveillance monitors

Yes, sir!

It's worse than I thought

Each morning at nine, they trickle through the gate

They go home early, they come in late!

Reeking of cheap liquor they stumble through the day

Never give a thought to honest work for honest pay!

I know it shouldn't vex me

I shouldn't take it hard

I know I should ignore their capering with a kingly disregard, but

Look at all those idiots

Oh, look at all those boobs

An office full of morons

A factory full of fools

Is it any wonder that I'm singing

Singing the blues

They make personal phone calls

On company time!

They Xerox their buttocks'

And guess who pays the dime!

Their blatant thievery wounds me

Their ingratitude astounds!

I long to lure them to my home

And then release the hounds!

I shouldn't grow unsettled

When faced with such abuse

I shouldn't let it plague me!

I shouldn't blow a fuse, but

Look at all those idiots

Oh, look at all those boobs

An office full of morons

A factory full of fools

Is it any wonder I'm singing

Singing the blues

What happened? Where are the instruments?

I believe they call this a breakdown, sir

I can't have any breakdowns here!

What if there was an inspector around?

Play a guitar solo

Oh, I'm a little out of practice, sir

I said do it! So do it! Do it! Do it!

Yes sir

Yes, excellent. Well done

All right, it's beginning to grate

That'll be sufficient, Smithers

Excuse me?

I said that's enough!

Oh! Sorry, sir. Thought I had my mojo working

That man by the cooler

Drinking water, as if it's free

Oh, that's Homer Simpson, sir

A drone from sector 7-G

Yes, well, call this Simpson to my office

And stay to watch the fun

If he's 6 feet when he enters

He'll be two feet when I'm done

It brings a ray of sunshine

To my unhappy life

To make him kneel before me

And slowly twist the knife

Look at all those idiots

Ohh, look at all those boobs

An office full of morons

A factory full of fools

Is it any wonder that I'm singing

Singing the blues

Take me home, sir

I'm trying

Surrounded by idiots

Outnumbered by boobs

An office full of morons

A planet full of fools

Is it any wonder I'm singing

Maybe you should be singing, sir

Oh, I'm singing the blu-u-ues

Look at all those idiots

Mr. Burns, you, you make Muddy Waters

Sound shallow and cheerful by comparison

An office full of morons

Thank you, Smithers

Meaningless but heartfelt compliment

Is it any wonder

I feel like I got a few things off my chest

And onto the chests of my inferiors

You did

Look at all those idiots

Why are they still playing?

Um...

Office full of morons

They're not still on salary, are they?

We're not validating their parking, sir

Is it any wonder

They're paying for their own coffee