Potato chips are really good,
Really good for me,
But not for the guy who makes them.

Working to satisfy my hunger,
Never give a thought to who eats them,
A hard job for him, an easy job for me.

Simplicity is best he said,
Deep-frying his worries,
But comes back when they're done.

It can't be helped he said,
after a hard day,
Sulking from his poor decisions.

We eat them with satisfaction,
He makes them with remose,
But it is the life,
Of the guy that makes potato chips.