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Camp Staff Nightmare

And nothing's too good for the Camp Staff
And nothing is just what we get,
Campers get all the gravy,
The Camp Staff, we get all the grits. 

McQuaid, he called me early one morning,
My poor blood-shot eyes could not see. 
He said pack your bags and get ready,
For camp staff at Treasure Valley. 

I packed up my stuff in a locker,
I hugged my dear parents good-bye,
Gave one last kiss to that girl of mine
And headed for Treasure Valley. 

I called and asked for directions,
The answer, it gave me a fright. 
Just hike to the edge of the world he said,
And when you get there hang a right. 

I hiked till I ran out of water,
I hiked till I ran out of gas,
To the left or the right, not a soul could be seen. 
So I laid down to die in the grass. 

I shimmied the pole up to heaven. 
Oh listen to what I do tell. 
When I saw the face of a camper,
I thought that I was surely below. 

St.   Peter was watching me struggle,
He threw back his head and he laughed. 
He said everyone else rides the elevator,
But camp-staffers still get the shaft. 

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