What makes life crap? It’s other people,
The phonies, the fakers, the timid young sheeple.
Theyre the tourists who stop to chat at the bottom of some stairs,
They’re the double pram mummies who travel in pairs.
They’re the smartphone twitchers with no volume control,
They’re the laissez faire shoppers on a very gentle stroll.
And they don’t seem to see my vitriol and rage,
As I try to hustle through their hordes while trying to remain sage.