Punk Junk Mailer

Tinker Tailor
soldier sailor
none of them's me
I'm a punk junk mailer

"Earn more money
while you get fit!"
That's how the ad got me into it.

Now I walk past miles
of hedge and fence,
posting junk
for a couple of cents.

Fold them, hold them
stick them in the box,
ads for cars
and wine and socks.

Ads for scenes
of a tropical shore,
where no junk-mailer's
feet get sore.

I've only got
two hands and feet,
but I carry more ads
than Shortland Street.

Some letters boxes
sternly say:
"No junk mail here!"
They make my day.

Rich man, poor man,
beggar man - no!
That's not the way
I'm going to go.

I'm not a complete
economic failure,
I'm and exec -
I'm a punk junk mailer!