Overtime

“Overtime”

By Dillon, Joe, Brandon & Jamaican Paul

A Funky 80s Square Cow Classic

“Midweek mayhem…

Truck’s still full…

Corporate sweatin’ ‘cause we got that overtime pull.”

Cue synth slap and cowbell

Came in Monday, feelin’ light,

By lunch I’d done two moves and a fridge fight.

Clients lyin’, “It’s just a few chairs,”

But it’s ten wardrobes and five damn stairs.

Clock said 40 and it’s only noon,

Payroll panicked like a full moon.

Sent an email sayin’ “cut ‘em loose”—

But we on the job still turnin’ crews.

Overtime, and it’s only midweek,

Movin’ so hard they scared to speak.

Dressers, couches, sweat and grime,

But we still clock in — every time.

Overtime! (Yeah, you heard it right)

Corporate sweatin’ by Wednesday night!

I been hurlin’ armoires since Tuesday dawn,

Truck so heavy I ripped my brawn.

Brandon don’t pause, don’t lift half,

Movin’ your life like it’s light as math.

Kurt peeked in like, “Y’all done soon?”

I said, “Naw, fam, we booked ‘til June.”

Tell accounting they better prepare,

Cuz I’m OT deep with time to spare.

Overtime, and we ain’t even slowin’,

Back brace tight and the tips ain’t showin’.

Still got miles and still got spine,

Gimme that check with the overtime line!

Overtime! (Oh yes indeed)

We got hours like cows got feed!

Mi clock say 44 by de break of day,

Movin’ three safes and a fish fillet.

Corporate chat like mi must be mad,

But mi just twerk on de dolly like mi dad.

Paul don’t stress, Paul just sweat,

Mi lift a king bed wit’ one cigarette.

Boss say slow, mi say “Nah man, fast!”

And mi truck still rollin’ past full gas.

“Uh, hey guys… it looks like you’re already past your weekly budget… can you slow down?”

NOPE.

“But—but you’ve already—”

STILL NOPE.

They say, “Y’all move too much, y’all break the bank,”

But the truck still rollin’ and the gas full tank.

You want slow? Go hire your cousin,

We OT kings — all grind, no fussin’.

Payroll lookin’ like a nervous wreck,

While we tossin’ armoires in the bed of the tech.

Tired? Hell yeah — but the paper right,

And we gon’ ride this out ‘til Friday night!

Hit 50 hours by Thursday brunch,

Drank motor oil for a protein lunch.

They said, “Slow down,” but I sped up more,

I’m signin’ time sheets with a lumbar sore.

Brandon snorin’ with a couch on his chest,

Paul in the cab just flexin’ his vest.

Dillon in the back yellin’ “This ain’t fair!”

But still movin’ dressers up spiral stairs.

Overtime, and it’s only Wednesday,

We in the zone like MJ on game day.

They try to stop us, but we just laugh,

Movin’ your house while doin’ math.

Overtime! (Sing it loud!)

We them boys corporate ain’t allowed.

Mi just want mi check… and a neck massage.

OT k ings… Square Cow, y’all broke.