[Verse ?]

I'm nauseous in this place, I need some office space
The boss is late, I wanna slap the mustache right off his face
I'm ready to go postal, I'm so close
I can almost feel his throat with no pulse when I choke him
In ten seconds I'mma turn into Hulk Hogan
With a cigarette in his mouth
He tells me there's no smokin'
I'm sick of this shit, it's ridiculous
All I picture is kickin' his ass
When he's taking his ashes and flickin' 'em
I'm sick of these stamps
I'm sick of lickin' 'em, sick of stickin' 'em
I'm sick of lookin' at 'em, I'm sick of 'em
"Alright, Mr. Mathers, pick 'em up!"
No you pick 'em up! Bitch, stick 'em up
Get against the wall, senior citizens and all
I can't take this shit no more, everybody hit the floor
Get the door, close it and lock it
Put your wallets back in your pocket, I don't want dollars
Ain't none of us walkin' out of this office