By Michael Slezak
July 07, 2005 at 12:00 PM EDT

R. Kelly is a man of the people. Thanks to his innovations in the art of lyrical composition, anyone can pen a Top 40 hit. I mean, first ”Thoia Thong” proved a chorus needn’t be more than the repetition of a fetching article of clothing. And now, his five-part ”Trapped in the Closet,” an (ahem) urban opera, shows that while melody is so five minutes ago, life’s most mind-numbing minutiae shouldn’t be ruled out as potential subject matter.

Don’t be intimidated, folks. I used a recent lunchtime escapade to pen my own opus, ”Trapped in the Deli,” and if all goes well, I’ll be out of this stinkin’ blog business and on top of the Billboard Hot 100 by the middle of next week.

One in the afternoon and my tumtum is starting to growl
All I had for breakfast was some Special K, it’s enough to make me howl

I step outside the office, it’s 84 degrees, the sidewalk smells of steaming trash
Better get inside the corner sandwich shop, before I do something rash

What’ll I have today? A grilled chicken sandwich sure sounds yum
But the guy behind the counter poses a question that leaves me numb

He asks, ”What kind of cheese?”
And then I say, ”What kind have you got?”
”Swiss, American, provolone.”

I say, ”Oh my god, this s— is on!”
And then he says, ”Now hold up, mister, I’ve only just begun.”

I say, ”no.”
He says, ”Yes.”
”No.”
”Yes.”
”No.”
”Yes.”
”No.”
”Yes.”

He’s saying something about pepper Jack and outside it starts to pour
I don’t have an umbrella, what the heck did I come here for?

Now I’m trapped in the deli
I really need to leave the deli (the deli)

I really wanted to leave work early (early)
To catch
CSI: Miami

But I’m trapped in the deli (the deli) (the deli) (the deli)…

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