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    Well I wake up in the morning at 11:47 and I can’t believe I have to face the horror of another fucking day

    And the magnificent magnitude of my morning erection merely mocks me like the sun in its optimistic greeting of the day

    Managing to manifest a modicum of motivation I meander to the kitchen make a mission out of mixing Nescafe

    But the milk is going off and coffee by itself is bitter and there’s ants all through the sugar and the supermarket’s fucking miles away

    My life is pretty sad
    But I know that I should be glad.
    At least I’m not a starving Ethiope
    Or a policeman in Bagdad

    At 11:53 I instigate the day’s ablutions in the hope my constitution can be altered by some action on the bowl

    But the total non-existence of colonic animation seems to me the perfect metaphor for the utter constipation of my soul

    By 11:59 I have decided that my life would be immediately improved by a carefully written list of short-term goals

    But by 12.05 my list consists of 1-dot put some pants on, 2-dot go to the shop, buy some prunes and Panadol

    My life is pretty shit
    But I know I shouldn’t whinge about it
    I could be a Palestinian
    Driving buses on the Gaza strip

    Yeah how bad can it be?
    Some people have it worse than me
    I could be a child prostitute
    Or Gary Glitter’s family

    I have no right to cry
    Some people have it worse than I
    I could be a thalidomide kid
    With something in my eye

    At 12:30 I realise I’m feeling so dejected that I’ve totally neglected the beginning of the Jerry Springer show

    So I settle on the sofa try to focus an iota of my motor-neurones on the brilliant insights for which Jerry is known

    And although on any other day a show entitled “Midgets Midget Midgets” would excite me like a virgin at her year eleven ball

    Today those little jelly-wresting fellas fail to free me of my misery instead they simply serve to make me feel three foot tall

    But how bad can it be?
    Some people have it worse than me
    I could be a Jewish stand up comedian
    In Nazi Germany

    Or I could be a Dockers fan
    Or an orphan in Pakistan
    Or the architect of the World Trade Centre
    Or a bobcat driver in Bam Iran

    I could be making an investigation
    Of a backpack in an underground station
    Or I could be a peace-loving speech-writer
    In George W’s administration

    Yeah I know that I don’t have the right
    To be unhappy with my life
    I could be Paris Hilton’s mother
    Or Shane Warne’s wife

    And I know that I shouldn’t be bitchin
    I could be in a worse position
    I could be a 3-nippled naturopath
    In the days of the Spanish inquisition

    I know I have no right to cry
    Some people have it worse than I
    I could have a serious nut allergy
    And be shipwrecked on an island with a crate of Snickers bars
    A jar of Nutella and a fresh baked pecan pie
    Some people have it worse than I

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    Todas as letras de Tim Minchin

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