Look At All Those Idiots Lyrics - Singles - Simpsons

Smithers, turn on the surveillance cameras 

Yes sir, it's worse than I thought 

Each morning at nine, they trickle through the gates 

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 

Ooh, 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 

Ooh, 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 

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, singing the blues 

(Look at all those idiots) 

Mr. Burns, you, you make Muddy Waters sound shallow and 

(An office full of morons) 

Cheerful, by comparison 

Thank you, Smithers 

Meaningless but 

(Is it any wonder) 

Heartfelt compliment 

I feel like I got a few things off my chest 

And onto the chests of my inferiors 

You do 

(Look at all those idiots) 

Why are they still playing? 

(Office full of morons) 

They're not still on salary, are they? 

We're not validating their parking, sir