Lyrics

An orange balding man they call Porthouser,
tiptoes through my earphones every night.

I believe I had that as he whispers, "go to work,
left, left, straight, left and right."

I close my eyes, then I drift away, i hear three
day old news, Podcast delay.

Emails and notes, and faxes too, he'll read them
all right now, read them for you.

Mailbag jingles for you, Tony will talk to you.
He'll moan, and whine, all the time.

He's got Nigel, Liz Clarke, David and Jeanne and SG3...