Straight outta storage, dusty letters from dead dudes,
Catalogued by geeks with attitude
When I'm called on, I get my gloves on,
Open the folder and get my read on,
You too sir, if you read the rules
The archive staff are gonna hafta come and shush you,
If you chat, or get a mobile out,
If you eat a twix or a bun, we'll throw you out,
Readers start to grumble, they wanna copy stuff,
Over five percent and man you've had enough!
Goin off on an archivist like that,
When all she doin is protectin old tat,
So give up the phone,
I'm just doin my job, so no need to moan,
Here's a heavy weight to keep yo stuff flat,
It's in old writin, how you like that?
Paeoleography is the name,
It's just part of the archivin game,
Me n you can make it out, no maybe,
I'm takin records out the box, daily,
Yo weekly, monthly, yearly,
Until them dumb, dusty letters read clearly,
And I'm there with the archival sticky tape,
Sir, you can't fix like me,
So when I'm in the searchroom, you better wait,
Coz archivist is packin up stuff,
As I leave, believe I'm clompin,
But when I come back, I'm comin straight out of storage...
Rapped to the tune of Straight Outta Compton by NWA. There can be no youtube link to such a profanity filled song on this innocent blog, (and our firewall restrictions make it hard for us to access anything related to NWA.) but you probably all own it anyway, I am sure.