The Weasel

A stretched black Cadillac, chauffeur at the wheel;
streetwise and wily in the art of the deal.
Met high-hats and lowlifes, met ’em eye to eye,
took ’em to the cleaners, hung ’em out to dry.

With the moves of a weasel, mind of a rat,
living like a pig and putting on the fat.
Rolling on the money roll, devil-may-care,
who gives a damn when the money’s always there.

Got brunettes in fishnets and peroxide blonds,
hedge funds, derivatives and counterfeit bonds.
A three-piece, silk tie and alligator boots;
Hollywood smile ’mongst his many attributes.

With a wag-ass swagger, his nose in the air;
laughing at the sycophants licking his rear.
In his cloaks and shadows, his venoms and lies;
bureaucrats sucking on his sweet little bribes.

Do-gooders doing good, got him on the run:
smooth-talking lawyers want to see him undone.
Take him to the cleaners, want his guts for bait,
his ass in a cell and his head on a plate.

Got a lust for blood and they want to collect;
but he ain’t bleeding, got his wears to protect.
To the laundromat, if you know what I mean;
muddied in the making but coming out clean.

Brief-cased, suited up and calling out his sins;
those brow-puckered lawyers with their square-jawed grins.
Not many as canny in cuffing the guilt
on the greasy hands of some ill-gotten filth.

Unsheathed, to the hilt in a tit for tat;
in for a kill and a feather in their hat.
The gloves are off but when it comes to the count,
he’ll flip ’em the bird from an offshore account.