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Music in every style -- except dull. Tom Smith, the World's Fastest Filker and the prototypical geek folk-rocker, releases new music for free download on a regular basis. (It was a song a week for almost a year.) You can subscribe to the RSS feed, purchase a better-quality MP3 of the song, or purchase three months' worth as a downloadable album.

Thursday, June 07, 2007

043: The World Is Against You

I know lots of people with their own personal superstitions. I've tried to get past most of my own, but it's not easy. There has to be a reason why those specific omens and portents are omens and portents, y'know?

Maybe we should list 'em on Wackipedia. ;)
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The World Is Against You
Words and Music © 2007 by Tom Smith
Released under a Creative Commons Noncommercial ShareAlike License


"Other drivers hate me" you say under your breath,
You should know that they do, and they're plotting your death
They're all jealous because they're not as good as you,
The world is against you, but what can you do?

There's a twelve-item limit in line at the store
And you're trapped behind someone who has thirty-four
The cashier can't add, and the bagger is high,
The world is against you, and you don't know why.

The day you were born, the gods, on a whim,
Looked down at your cradle, said, "We don't like him,
There are so many ways to ensure his downfall,
We're immortal and bored, so let's try them all."

Your favorite team lost 'cause you laundered your shirt
The one from your childhood, with magic team dirt,
You wouldn't have gotten all four tires flat
Except that your path was crossed by a black cat.

You can't wash your car or the rain soaks the ground,
For three days and six hundred miles around
The bankers just called, and they want the house back,
Your mother's in traction, you stepped on a crack.

So many bad things happen, all caused by you,
Your existence offends the whole universe through,
Distant planets align just to mess up your day,
And the stars in the sky feel the very same way.

You relit the pilot, your furnace went boom,
You spit donut crumbs at your boss 'cross the room,
Your name's at the top of a terrorist watch,
You use public toilets, got growths on your crotch.

I suppose that someday the gods might let you be,
But you're more entertainment than they usually see,
If you ever stopped whining, they might get a clue
And start bugging someone more whiny than you.
The world is against you, what else can you do?
The world is against everybody else too.

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