O Betho! Our Betho!
It seems so short a time
Since you began to work for us
and start your corporate climb.
When you came in, you did begin
to do some manual labor,
When this got old, you left our fold
to be instead, our neighbor.
It was write! Write! Write!
It got real old quite fast,
And so you joined Support and said,
"I'm finally home at last!"
O Betho! Our Betho!
So soon your job's grown dim?
You've had it with the interrupts,
and calls from Lew and Wim?
The earlybirds and all the words
the customers were shouting,
The graying hair from Teleshare?
You feel you need an outing?
Here, it's work! Work! Work!
You just can take so much,
And then you need a few years off
to dive and ski and such.
O Betho! Our Betho!
Your time is growing short!
You've said that you have had enough;
you're going to leave the Fort!
To leave HP and do PT
is what you're now desiring;
We hope you pass your every class--
(HP's no longer hiring. . .)
For it's books! Books! Books!
They're in your future now,
And studying for final tests
with sweat-bespangled brow.
O Betho! Our Betho!
When you are gone from here,
Th' economy of Cozumel
will surely shed a tear.
For when in school, the money you'll
have won't be abundant;
The food you'll eat, your special treats,
will start to seem redundant.
For it's books! Books! Books!
From them you'll have to learn,
And study 'til all hours while
the midnight oil you burn.
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