Aaaahhh!!! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!!!!!
The market is falling!
The market is falling!
Again.
He’s jittery,
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.
