Gonna Be Fired

Gonna Be Fired lyrics

Official lyrics for “Gonna Be Fired” by Festival Guy.

[Intro – Spoken, overly dramatic]

(Deadpan announcer voice) Here in Department 7-B, Where the coffee’s burnt and the dreams are decaf, We find a moderately paid nobody Staring at a blinking cursor, A paperclip bent into a tiny noose, And a manager named Doug Who calls everything a “deliverable.” Let’s listen in…

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[Verse 1]

I punch in at nine-oh-seven, Time clock screams like a wounded dove, Boss says, “You’re late,” I say, “It’s a construct,” He says, “That won’t fly, buddy, not above.”

There’s a memo on my desk about a memo that I missed, Spreadsheet breeding little numbers in a monochrome abyss, They say my “attitude’s corrosive to the culture we require,” I say, “The culture’s moldy,” they say, “Talk to HR.”

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[Pre-Chorus 1]

My chair’s held together with staples and prayer, Fluorescent halos buzzing in the stale gray air, The printer coughs toner like a two-pack-a-day, And the breakroom fridge just growled my name today…

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[Hook / Chorus]

I hate my fucking job and I will be fired, Probably by a guy with a clip-on tie, uninspired, He’ll read from a script like a half-broken choir, “I wish you the best,” while the office burns higher.

I hate my fucking job and I will be fired, I’m a glitch in the system they never desired, Gonna dance out the door when my badge is retired, Singin’ “La-la-la-la, I’m happily fired!”

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[Verse 2]

Cubicle walls made of carpet and shame, Got a plant on my shelf that forgot its own name, The clock melts slowly like a Dali regret, Every ding of an email is a new kind of threat.

They say “Q3 synergy,” I hear “slow death,” They’re naming new metrics with their coffee breath, “Optimize, monetize, weaponize the brand,” While my brain’s in 7/8 and my soul’s in free jazz land.

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[Pre-Chorus 2]

My mouse pad’s sticky with somebody’s fear, The janitor whispers, “You’re not really here,” There’s a pie chart spinning on the conference wall, Looks just like the halo of a corporate god’s fall…

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[Hook / Chorus]

I hate my fucking job and I will be fired, By a color-coded graph that the VP admired, HR nods along like a bored town crier, Stamping my fate with a digital wire.

I hate my fucking job and I will be fired, When the KPI kingdom gets tired, Of a brain that won’t fit in the box they wired, So I’m tuning my soul and I’m getting rewired.

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[Weird Middle Section – Spoken & Sung]

[Spoken, mock-commercial] “Side effects of employment may include: Existential dread, Compulsive spreadsheet formatting, And the uncontrollable urge To forward emails that no one will ever read.”

[Sung, angular rhythm] Stamp my timecard, cut my pay, Feed my thoughts through the ERP, Break my lunch into fifteen-minute units, And schedule my dreams for 3:23.

[Call-and-response, like an office chant] Voices: “Did you get my email?” Me: “No.” “Did you read my email?” “No.” “Did you feel my email… in your soul?” “…Unfortunately, yes.”

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[Bridge – Modulate, slightly dreamy]

One day they’ll slide that envelope across the table, Like a sacrament of freedom wrapped in beige, They’ll say, “This hurts us more than it hurts you,” (But their eyes are already back on the gauge.)

And I’ll float down the hallway on a swivel chair throne, Waving to the interns with a cardboard crown, The copier will hum me a victory song, As security gently escorts me down…

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[Hook / Chorus – Big & Unhinged]

I hate my fucking job and I will be fired, By a slideshow of slogans nobody required, “Think outside the box,” but the box is wired, To explode if you ever say, “Hey, I’m tired.”

I hate my fucking job and I will be fired, And on that day I’ll be weirdly inspired, Gonna play my life in eleven and five, ‘Cause getting fired might mean I’m alive.

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[Outro – Slow, half-spoken]

(Spoken, soft) So if you hear a little cheer From the third floor by the vending machine, That’s just me, Losing my benefits… And finding my mind.

[Sung, fading]

I hate my fucking job and I will be fired, But the band in my head just got rehired… (doo-doo-doo…)