We-ell, my name don't mean nothing And my song it is plain Just another temp worker On the orange line train.
My agent, she calls me With a job I can do I just show up tomorrow 'Cause my bills are all due.
Chorus And it's gather 'round workers and lift up your glass The Lord, he has told me That this too shall pass. By faxes, by copy By Word document If we swallow our pride, boys, We will all pay our rent.
We-ell my boss, he ain't nothin' He is lazy and kind He sleeps most the day And his eye he turns blind.
There's a guy here named Ricky And a guy here named Steve And they don't do nothin' But to sit there and breathe.
We-ell, my sorrows have deepened As the years they grow sour I'll drown them completely At the next happy hour.
I have lost all my hope I forgot all my dreams And now I'm just a temp On a train in DC.