Memory for Nothing

(To the tune of Dire Straits "Money for Nothing")

Look at them yo-yos,
That's the way you do it,
Sittin' and a-starin' at that weird TV.
Pullin' in the big bucks, runnin' them computers.
Playin' text Nintendos for the company.

Lookit! Look at what they're wearin',
The boss'd chew my ass off if I dressed like that.
Scarfin' Coke and Twinkies even when it ain't a break time,
Ain't a wonder why they all is gettin' fat.
Don't punch no time clock neither, they know they won't get fired.
Computer records all would vanish (snap) like that!

I just installed a microwave sauna.
I placed my order for a Bey-em-vey.
My lawyer says that Gates has stole my shareware program,
My lawyer says we're gonna make him pay and pay!

Man, that ain't working. You don't see 'em sweatin'.
Ain't no friggin' fork lift gonna mash their toe.
What's that? What's that he say about a injury?
Maybe get a blister on their typin' finger,
Or what's that? Carpal tunnel disability.

But their turn's a'comin',
There's someone that's a'gunnin' for 'em from behind.
The Japs has got the chips and, the Japs has got Nintendo.
So when they get the axe and, come beggin' to MacDonald's
I'll be there before em; then _they'll_ wait in line...

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When in Ann Arbor I used to hang out with a bunch of guys in the Detroit Microcomputer Club. They would regale us with tales of their Bohemian lifestyles in corporate America. Management had to put up with their sloppy attire, weird working hours, and other antics because they were performing a vital service.

Dire Straits' song "Money for Nothing" was about the roadies for a rock band talking off-stage while their performer/bosses were living it up. I couldn't resist filking it to apply to these programmers.

It's interesting that so little has changed in decades years since I wrote it. They still cry that there's never enough memory. Intel used to number their microprocessors 8086, -186, -286; and the -386 had just been introduced. I projected this to -486, -586, and -686. They have now all come and gone; then they moved on to Pentium and a whole succession of made-up names.

A poem by Lee A. Hart, © 1984-2020 by Lee A. Hart. Created 3/6/2012. Last updated 12/17/2019.
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