Typewriter, typewriter, where’re you at?
I’m a office worker, so I must be fat.
The Colonel said that I must run,
And he thinks I’m having fun.
If I could, I’d surely hid,
And try to work from eight to five.
Typewriter, typewriter, please be true,
For I’ll be coming back to you.
If I don’t and you need me,
Look underneath the nearest tree.
I’ll be there, if I can hide,
Watching the rest run on by.
Typewriter, typewriter, remember me,
As I run for mile three.
I’ll be in the office soon,
For sure I’ll hurt ‘til afternoon.
Feeling good, looking good, must be good…