|My job is full of heartaches
and no wonder I am blue,|
It's terrible the awful things that I'm supposed to do.
And if it wasn't for the fact that I'm a virtuous miss,
I wouldn't have the nerve to even finish this.
I had no way of knowing the way the shopmen talk,
But now a dozen times a day my modesty is shocked.
The fellows crowd around me like a lot of crazy fools,
Until they have me dizzy handing out their gosh darn tools.
I don't mind the decent tools, like
wrenches, drills and shears,
But what some fellows ask for makes me red behind the ears.
The man repairing bearings comes and asks to see my balls,
And then he laughs and stares at me until the next man calls.
They ask for cocks to fit on pipes, for
counter bores and tits,
And when they ask me for a screw, it scares me into fits,
They come and ask for reamers to enlarge their small holes,
They're driving me plumb crazy; darn their rotten souls.
They ask me for a ratchet bit and for
They always make dirty cracks as through the screen they smile.
They ask me for a female gauge, and it's a sad, sad, tale,
Because I can't tell the damn things from a male.
One fellow finds his tool too short,
another is too long,
The next one says his tool is weak, another one's too strong.
One fellow asked me for waste to wipe a plumber's cock,
And when I nearly fainted, all he did was gawk.
A foreman looking 'round one day for tools
to cut a slot,
Said "Open up your drawers, girl, and show me what you got."
Another came up to me as I returned from lunch,
And asked me with a grin, if I had seen his big prick punch.
And speaking of embarrassment, never shall
The day the payman asked, "Have you a monthly yet?"
Now how the hell was I to know he meant my monthly check;
By the time they saved him, I'd darned near broke his neck.
I hate to be a quitter, folks will say I
lack the guts,
But if I stay another, day this place will drive me nuts.
I really want to do my bit, and that's no doggon bull
But you can have this tool room job; I've got my belly full.