Sick Jan

(H&R Block...)

When I first met Jan, I thought she was a regular desert woman
Gray buzzcut, enough turquoise to get into Stevie Nicks's house (no questions asked)
What I didn't know was Sick Jan was an absolute nihilist
Who was willing to risk it all for me
She looks at my forms, puts her head on her desk
For an unreal amount of time

(I could go to literally anyone else, there's several other tax preparers here)
(No, no, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay)
(Ron gets the best Yelp reviews of anyone here, but between you and me, he's a bit of a priss)

Not really between you and me because Ron's six inches away
And you're screaming (screaming)
In an otherwise silent office

(It's not looking good, Christopher, do you work from home?
(Yes)
(Is the sole purpose of that room for your office?)
(No, we eat there too, so--)
(What I'll do for you, I'm gonna claim a home office)
(Okay, great--)
(What we're doing here today, we could both go to jail for a long time)
(Wait, what?)

Sick Jan, we don't have to claim a home office
If it means we'll both go to jail
(Christopher, I'll do it for you)
What? No! Why?! (Why?)

(I'm happy to do this)
(If the IRS come in though and they see you do anything but work, we will both go to prison)

Sick Jan, we don't have to claim a home office
If it means we'll both go to jail (For a long time!)
How many Jason Statham movies are you watching, Sick J?

Every single year, I'd go back to H&R Block
And I'd demand to work with Sick Jan
And she was always available because I don't think anyone wanted to work with her
Because she was obsessed with the idea of going to jail
Or maybe no one wanted to deal with her celebratory sneezes and coughs
Each cough was a celebration, and each sneeze was a gunshot (achoo!)

The next year, I go back to that H&R Block
I walk in with my forms held high
Sick Jan puts her head on her desk for an amount of time
That would make me uncomfortable if I weren't used to her strange bullshit (ugh)

(Okay, here we go again. You wanna do the home office?)
(I mean, not if it's an issue...)
(No, it's not an issue, it's not an issue) (Alright--)
(I just want you to know, Christopher, If the IRS come to your house)
(And see that you have more than one use for your home office...)
(Here it comes.)
(Then you and I will lose our freedom?)
(Right, then let's not do that--)
(You and I will be caked in subpoenas, we're going to the big house!)
(Uncle Sam's naughty box! I'll do it though, I'll do it for you.)

Sick Jan, we don't have to claim a home office
If it means we'll both go to jail (I don't mind)
"I just want you to know
That you and I are both booking tickets to Whitey Bulger's final Airbnb!"

Sick Jan, your fantasy of going to jail with me (The IRS is gonna come pick)
Is becoming a problem with our working relationship (your small ass up)
(With a shish kabob that I'm also on and take us both to the people's pound!)
When they drive your Corolla that they reclaim through your house
And see you not working in your office, just staring out the window like Carole King (Carole King)
Then you and I will go to "Can't Order Pizza Anymore" Island!

(Sick Jan, of course, um, either was fired or quit from H&R Block.)
(Last time I saw her was in line at the 2016 election, and she pretended to not know me.)

But when we locked eyes, she had that look in her eye
That crazy, Sick Jan look, it said to me
"I'm old enough to know that not all dreams come true
You and I never made it to jail Chris!
And it's hard for me to face the embers of that dream here in line to vote
But what if, Christopher, it's not too late?
Let's take out our cell phones in the voting booth, we can still do hard time!"

Sick Jan, Sick Jan
Sick Jan, Sick Jan (Whoa, whoa, whoa, go to jail!)
Sick Jan, Sick Jan (No, no, no, no)
Sick Jan (No!)