Business Speak II: For Matthew and for Balance

Business Speak II: For Matthew and For Balance

There's a guy outside my building
Who's holding some sort of sign.
A red-inked 'FUCK' on a dollar bill.
He's slamming poetry in rhyme.

He's quoted Noam Chomsky
And misquoted Gandhi twice
Then "Happiness in Slavery"
Trent Reznor adds some spice.

Wait, now he's back to slamming,
misunderstanding the term 'sub-prime',
Which he's pronouncing 'sub-preem'
Then half-rhyming it with 'crime'.

He's watched too much Adam Curtis
And thinks all of us are rich,
Getting handjobs in our castles
While he's wanking in his ditch.

Well, buddy let me tell you
I've been banking seven years
And I've got chuff-all savings.
I'm perpetually in arrears.

Is it possible you're just jealous?
Or just the judgemental type?
It's fashionable to be zealous
But don't believe the hype.

Yes, let me set the record straight:
I work a thirteen hour day,
See my children at the weekends
And only rarely holiday.

Yet you imagine me out golfing
Snorting endless cocaine bumps.
I'm not the Wolf of Wall Street, mate.
We're not all Donald Trumps.

I bought The Art of the Deal, it's true
But I haven't read it since.
Like you bought a copy of Purple Rain
But it failed to make you Prince.

What you don't like is working.
You like to strum on your guitar
And scribble half a protest song
About why I shouldn't have my car.

I know a load of bankers.
They're just ordinary folks.
Some assholes, but that's just humankind.
It's mostly normal blokes.

I know that you won't listen
But to be entirely frank
You shouldn't question my existence
Just for working at a bank.

I read your prissy poem
About my supposed deathbed regret.
You'd posted it on Facebook.
That anti-corporate outlet.

Well carry on, write your stupid song.
See whose deathbed that enhances.
For me, I'll grunt and sweat for cash.
As for regret, I'll take my chances.