It's all wrinkled elbow shirts and poker faces on this bus Back to a niche, dug just like a ditch in this city's weathered crust But there's something about the city's gray that seems to say all there is to say Riddled with regiment, vindictive intent, faking loyalty and getting paid Fuck 'em all Fuck 'em all Fuck 'em all Fuck 'em all She keeps the Variety section and then gives the rest to me She says she remembers when buses were nicer, "no dignity in plastic seats" But there's something about the way she said, "the only good boss is one that's dead" Broad shoulders giggled all over the bus and work ethics crumbled into "them and us" Fuck 'em all Fuck 'em all Fuck 'em all Fuck 'em all And all these spectres of the workplace Turned from effigy back to reality And yeah, I wish it was that simple To think a belly laugh is really all we need But it's the slow decay of the day-to-day That says take your paycheck Accept your place and fade away But there was dignity in plastic seats that day