Compliments of Your Waitress

The day drags on and stumbles

I'm far too tired to smile

From the kitchen to the tables

I must've walked a thousand miles

The man at table number seven

He's not where he wanted to be

He's far too tired, or he's just been fired,

So he takes it all out on me

Takes it all out on me

Pretty young couple in the corner

With much too much to say

They don't like a thing that I bring them,

And they send it all away

They look in my eyes when I apologise

Say they want it all for free

They've got the guilt of easy money,

and they take it all out on me

Take it all out on me

The dignity of labour

It never rang true to me

Where's the pride in the nine to five

And the crook of the bended knee?

And a man wants my telephone number

So drunk he can hardly see

And I know in the haze of rejection

That he'll take it all out on me

Take it all out on me

So take advice from a girl who knows

The next time you complain

There's a hallway from the kitchen

Where I know I can't be seen

That's where I flavour the food I bring you:

Your steaks and your soups and your stew

Compliments of your waitress

I can take it all out on you

Take it all out on you.