The Shit-Splattered Bungle

Hey there, man, can you tell
From the sound of their song?
What the brass wish to sell:
One more chance to do wrong

Since it’s all that they know:
Fucking-up to advance
Got some trillions to blow?
Just give these dolts a chance

Kissing-up, kicking-down,
Up the greasy pole they
Madly climb, noses brown:
Grifters out to make hay

In their pants dropping stools
Screwing over some troops:
Market-conqueror’s tools,
CEO-statesman’s dupes

Watch these corporate clerks
Hawking stocks for the boss,
Skimming off all the perks,
Leaving workers the loss

Just as Smedley once said,
Of the general’s cluck:
Uniform and shaved head?
Racketeer for a buck

So let taxpayers balk
When the Joined Chefs of Stuff
Demand “MORE!” for cheap talk,
‘Cause they’ve done quite enough.