The market is falling! The market is falling!
of course, so much so he will, again, kill...
he can’t quite keep his invisible hand still.
Does it shake cuz he’s a pill-poppin fiend?
Or cuz, self-indulgent, his pants he has creamed?
He’s spooked, the kook, by his own reflection:
he gets depressed by the thought of depression.
So, I’ll make a confession:
I never liked him anyways,
not his materialist craze, not the greed-glazed gaze,
not to mention his brazen pillaging, setting all ablaze.
So let him shrink, downturn, and crash,
maybe we can heal affluenza’s rash:
so set on makin mad cash
we don’t see global fever
set to kill all in a fiery flash.