"McDonald's" genre: Folk
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	MP3.com CD: Lisa Housman: 5 Song Demo - buy it! Credits: Recorded by Rob Ignazio, at Porter Square Studios, Cambridge
	Story Behind the Song This song was inspired by the high school students I work with, many of whom work at McDonald's and have told me stories about fast food and what it's like to work there. Lyrics He ordered up a Happy Meal/ He sat down with his kids/ I cleaned the salad trolley/ I put out more plastic lids/ He didn't speak to me although I tried to say "Hello"/ His daughter had an army doll called "Cinderella Joe"/ She was fighting with the ketchup/ She was climbing up the fries/ She went flying off the table into shark-infested skies/ He yelled "Molly, get on back here," when she brought the doll to me/ She said, "I'll fight your carrot sticks with ghosts of Mr. T"/ And I said "That's a nice dolly, though she's missing half an ear."/ He stood and shouted, "Molly, get your body over here!"/ She said, "I'm only talking with this lady on the phone"/ He said, "There's people you should talk to, people you should leave alone."/ And I gave her a coin from Cuba, but he dropped it on the floor/ He said, "You can't take things from strangers," as they headed for the door And I guess he thought that because I work at McDonald's I have no soul/ That a body can serve a Big Mac when it's on remote control/ That serving fries would rob me of the dreams I have at night/ that I'm not here/ that I don't feel/ that I don't reach for light The preppy crowd comes in at lunch and orders up a storm/ College boys and college bound\ in sweaters thet look warm/ They talk about the girls they like and how they'd like to score/ But when a girl walks in, they don't discuss it anymore/ And it's like this plastic shield up/ Like I'm wearing a disguise/ They say, "I'd like to screw someone."/ They don't avoid my eyes And I guess they think that because I work at McDonald's I have no soul/ That a body can serve a Big Mac when it's on remote control/ That serving fries would rob me of the dreams I have at night/ That I'm not here/ That I don't feel/ That I don't reach for light I got this job four years ago/ I go to school at night/ I came here from Havana with my mom to start a life/ My grand dad was a writer/ I have his book at home/ For pages it's a story, then it turns into a poem/ He wrote it all in Spanish/ Crossed out every other word/ It's a kid out in the countryside/ A crooked flying bird/ He wrote it on brown paper in a kind of jagged scrawl/ And though noone else could read it, still he had to save it all/ I read it every night now as I try to go to sleep/ My fingers smudge the pages/ How can paper cut so deep? Well did you see me at McDonald's trying to look into your soul?/ Staring off to outer space like you were on remote control?/ It's not like it's so bad if we keep missing in the night/ Shedding mounds of fast food wrappers as we're reaching for the light/ I'll clean up your fast food wrappers, just keep reaching for the light

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