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Clock ticks slow in this old office chair, Boss's son, with that perfect hair. He struts in like he owns the place, While I’m just tryin' to keep a straight face. Papers stackin', coffee's gone cold, Tales of his summer, never gettin' old. I glance at the window, watch the sun fade, Another long day that I just can't trade.

Male Voice, soft rock, southern rock, southern hip hop, alternative rock, classic rock, country, electric guitar, bass