POLKA FOR EIGHT FREAKING HOURS,
my daughter cries out as she cowers,
taste in this music is not ours.
Polka for eight freaking hours.
Polka for eight freaking hours,
for no other channel he scours.
Change the station? I lack the powers.
Polka for eight freaking hours.
Polka for eight freaking hours,
the accordion groans betwixt towers,
the tuba is killing my flowers.
Polka for eight freaking hours.
Polka for eight freaking hours,
no response to my stares and glowers,
the forecast says sadly no showers.
POLKA FOR EIGHT FREAKING HOURS.