Within the walls of the Post Office
There lurks a cynical soul
One who reaps the benefits
Of a job she despises so

Her name is Marguerite
Which will come as no surprise
When she bores a hole through you
With a gaze of her evil eye

Her mood is always somber
Her outlook always bleak
She reeks of human repellant
When she opens her mouth to speak

Try not to hold it against her
For being a satanic sod
Could it be she needs some help
Prying her ass from that steel rod?

Is it lust for evil
That fuels her vengeful woe?
A disgust for living a human life
Or a marriage of undertow?

Whatever the reason we all agree
Marguerite is quite a witch
With an office plaque bearing her name
As the world's most infamous bitch