The Programmer Song

Grindin' codes weren't easy,
like the hackers sid it was;
an' I don't recall no HR girls,
or brand-new Pentiums. . .

It worked long, and hard, and buggy,
ran our resources too low;
an' there were all the nights you couldn't sleep,
for some damn error code,

an' we sang,
Spa-ghetti code
(an' a cup o' joe).

Like the time they switched the server,
an' the LAN began to fall;
an' the calls were comin' so damn fast
we thought they'd fire us all. . .

We lost a lot of data that day,
an' four or five accounts;
but when all the users logged back on
we knew that's what counts,

an' we sang,
Gimme C++
(an' a mainframe space).

Oh, the deadline ran behind us,
an' it took us by surprise;
I won't forget that look of fear
in the project leader's eyes. . .

An' he coded for all his job was worth,
an' I know he done his best;
but he crashed it in production
and got downsized with the rest,

an' we sang,
Bringin' in the sheet
(with the contract clause).

So when you see the programmer,
he's ain't half-crazed by his choice;
he never meant to squint that way
or put that mumble in his voice.

He's just chasin' what he really loves,
an' what's burnin' in his soul;
wishin' to God that he'd been born
in a world without COBOL,

still singin',
Spa-ghetti code
(an' a cup o' joe).