[Intro] New face, new name—Hunter in town. Psychedelic T-rex, cool smile, sweet sound. Then came the memo, then came the plan: More from the few—that’s the whole demand. [Verse 1] He rolled in wearing dinosaurs, all easy charm and grace, Then the little rules got louder and the squeeze took shape. “Whip the peasants harder”—that’s the polished bottom line, Don’t work smarter, don’t hire enough, just stretch the same old spine. If the absence is on the calendar, you still leave us short, No cover in the schedule, just a pep talk for support. You find what someone hates to do and make them do it more, While the things they’re brilliant at get buried on the floor. [Pre-Chorus] More work, less hands—what a clever design. More asks, less time—say it one more time. [Chorus] Hunter, Hunter, what a vision—every margin gets a squeeze. More with less, less with more, and a grin that says “please.” When you say, “Do more,” I say, “Yeah, right, okay— How ’bout you kiss my backside tonight? I’ve got work to delay.” [Verse 2] Another mini-hit leader with a flawless profit map, Corporate words in perfect rows, a spreadsheet for a trap. A perfect little system where the people disappear, A perfect corporate vision that gets blurrier each year. You call it “lean” and “focus,” we call it running thin, You count the saved-up pennies while the good folks wear down. And if we ask for breathing room, the answer’s always “cope”— A grand strategic masterpiece with no staff and no hope. [Pre-Chorus] More work, less hands—what a clever design. More asks, less time—say it one more time. [Chorus] Hunter, Hunter, what a vision—every margin gets a squeeze. More with less, less with more, and a grin that says “please.” When you say, “Do more,” I say, “Yeah, right, okay— How ’bout you kiss my backside tonight? I’ve got work to delay.” [Bridge] I feel a contagious illness making its way through the room. Priscila’s putting points on—watch the forecast bloom. We’ve covered every gap; we’ve swallowed every task. Now the plan can meet the people it forgot to ask. [Final Chorus] Hunter, Hunter, what a vision—every margin gets a squeeze. More with less, less with more, and a grin that says “please.” When you say, “Do more,” the whole crew answers, “No way— How ’bout you kiss our backsides tonight? We’ve got nothing left to give away.” [Outro] New face, new name—same old squeeze. More with less? Not from me.
