Compliments of Your Waitress

The day drags on and stumbles
 I'm far too tired to smile
 From the kitchen to the tables
 I must've walked a thousand miles
 The man at table number seven
 He's not where he wanted to be
 He's far too tired, or he's just been fired,
 So he takes it all out on me
 Takes it all out on me
 Pretty young couple in the corner
 With much too much to say
 They don't like a thing that I bring them,
 And they send it all away
 They look in my eyes when I apologise
 Say they want it all for free
 They've got the guilt of easy money,
 and they take it all out on me
 Take it all out on me
 The dignity of labour
 It never rang true to me
 Where's the pride in the nine to five
 And the crook of the bended knee?
 And a man wants my telephone number
 So drunk he can hardly see
 And I know in the haze of rejection
 That he'll take it all out on me
 Take it all out on me
 So take advice from a girl who knows
 The next time you complain
 There's a hallway from the kitchen
 Where I know I can't be seen
 That's where I flavour the food I bring you:
 Your steaks and your soups and your stew
 Compliments of your waitress
 I can take it all out on you
 Take it all out on you.