B.B. Booker

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B.B. Booker

It’s no science, but rather an art
adjusting figures to give a head start
zero here and there
and a few grand to spare
but his tactics, he’ll never impart.

The books he’ll carefully revise
so the tax man is no more the wise
through the books, he pores
some ones are now fours
the illegal, is now legalized

the accounting is clean front to back
and better yet, it’s impossible to track
the figures improved
a page is removed
and like that, from the red to the black.

The Earl of Grey

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Earl of Grey

Peering down from his castle on the hill,
The Earl of Grey heats a tea refill.
When money runs old and money runs deep,
he’s all the time needed for the tea to steep.

Puff puff, from the old cigar,
a royal boss, a king, a czar

No longer bothered with petty street crimes,
no thugs, no violence, oh those were the times.
An army of pawns, work like a game of chess,
he can just snap, and they clean up the mess.

Puff puff, from the old cigar,
pass the champagne and the caviar.

An empire of violence and crime at his feet,
it ensues on the street while he sits in his suite.
But when looking for clues, his payroll’s his muse,
to polish and buff any trace from his shoes.

Puff puff, from the old cigar,
will probably write his on memoir.

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