Oh, Frosty The Postman

This dates back to the time when postal workers were killing their co-workers.

Oh, Frosty the Postman was a very unsocial guy.
He liked to dis the girls,
Cut off their curls,
And tear wings from off of a fly.

Oh, Frosty the Postman, he’d never get a date,
For he’d pass some gas,
Then Pick his ass.
That’s not the way to win a mate!

His rented room was filled with trash and porno mags and more,
Like dirty shirts and nasty shorts
And pecker tracks galore.

Oh, Frosty the Postman, he really hated life.
`Cause as a sexless jerk,
The redhead clerk
Would never be his wife.

Oh, Frosty the Postman, co-workers teased him bad
Spit on his lunch
Pissed in his punch
And this really made him mad

There must have been some magic in the old carbine he found,
Cause when he brought it into work
They began to run around.

Oh, Frosty the Postman was a very disgruntled soul.
The night shift gig
Finally blew his wig.
And really took a toll.

Oh, Frosty the Postman, it had been an awful day.
So he got the gun,
Then just for fun,
He blew them all away.


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