Too Much Trouble

Everything is too much, too much trouble,
Everything is too much trouble.
Sun in the window, get out of bed.
Toast the bread, comb your head,
Put on the jeans and shirt, look at the dirt.

Everything is too much, too much bother,
Everything is too much bother.
Talk about something, what does it matter?
World still turns and the toast still burns,
Still burns, and you scrape it.

Everything is too much, too much fuss,
Everything is too much fuss.
They step on your foot and kick you if you holler,
They pay you a buck and tax you a dollar,
And all they can say is ring around the collar, Who wears it?

So many things expecting to be done,
Don't know where to start so you don't do none.
Pick up a book, turns out to be a bore,
Can't read a word after page twenty four,
You pick up the paper, it talks about the war. Which one?

Everything is too much, too much trouble,
Everything is too much trouble.
Sun in the window, get out of bed.
Toast the bread, comb your head,
Put on the jeans and shirt, look at the dirt.