Kurt’s a Pain in My Ass

“Kurt’s a Pain in My Ass”

Performed by Joe and Dillon

(To a gritty country/rock groove)

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I showed up at seven, no info, no plan,

Truck half-packed, and he’s textin’ like he’s still the man.

He booked three flights with a piano in tow,

And blamed me when it wouldn’t fit through the door.

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He calls it a “simple load,” said it’s light as air,

Didn’t mention the safe or the twelve oak chairs.

He’s chillin’ in the office with his vape and sass—

Man, Kurt’s a certified pain in my ass.

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Kurt’s a pain in my ass, like a dolly with a flat,

Talks real big but don’t know where the jobs are at.

He books a four-man move with a crew of two,

Then wonders why we’re done by midnight and blue.

We keep the wheels turnin’, he just steps on the gas—

Yeah, Kurt’s a pain in my ass.

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He sends us out blind, says “check the notes,”

But there’s nothin’ there but emojis and jokes.

Client’s askin’ questions we can’t even guess,

And Kurt’s MIA on his thirty-minute rest.

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“Just use the straps,” he says through the phone,

While we wrestle an armoire made of solid stone.

He’ll give you a smirk, then pass the blame fast—

‘Cause Kurt’s a diploma-wearin’ pain in the ass.

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Kurt’s a pain in my ass, like a wheel that squeaks,

Like doin’ five moves in a workweek’s week.

He signs the deals, then it’s us gettin’ burned,

While he’s postin’ selfies and nothin’ gets learned.

We’re stackin’ miracles, haulin’ brass—

While Kurt’s just a pain in the ass.

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If leadership’s a truck, he ain’t drivin’ straight,

He’s spillin’ the load and showin’ up late.

Tells the office we’re slackin’? That’s rich—

While we mop up his mess without a twitch.

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Kurt’s a pain in my ass, yeah a thorn in the seat,

But we carry this branch like pros on repeat.

Joe and Dillon rollin’ deep through the smoke,

While Kurt’s back home misquotin’ the quotes.

We ain’t bitter—just stating the facts…

Kurt’s a pain in our ass—and we’re breakin’ his backs.