B.B. Booker

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

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.

“Duct Tape” Dave

“Duct Tape” Dave

Well, well, well, what do you know.

All wrapped up with nowhere to go.

Just like your brother, you just had that itch

a secret, a story, you just had to snitch.

Getting so chummy with the cops, you dummy,

got you all wrapped up like a scummy old mummy.

Unfortunate for you, it’s Halloween,

so you’ll go unnoticed, virtually unseen.

Kids with candy, laughing, wide eyed,

stare back at your eyes, mummified.

Go ahead, just try to escape,

walking is hard when you’re wrapped up in tape.

The next time you go and try to confess,

we’ll run you through the embalming process.

Illustration Friday‘s: Entangled

Baron Samedi

Baron Samedi

The mysterious member of the magical mob,
the dealer of deeds, the seller of souls.
For when business gets dark and a real nasty job,
burn the incense, the sacrifice on coals.

Just hoo doo you think you are
in that vest, oh so tweedy?
What voodoo do you do, underneath the star?
Watch out for Baron Samedi.

If you are willing, with him, to confide,
he’s in it to win it, just show what you will sell.
Your target will be ushered, to the other side
and you’ll be, forever,  indebted to his spell.

Just hoo doo you think you are
greedy, making deals so seedy?
What voodoo do you do, underneath the star?
Watch out you Baron Samedi.

The Invisible Man

The Invisible Man

Is he real or is it mass hysteria?
Jewelers, traders and bank tellers
claim to have seen him in the area.
Beware you buyers and sellers.

Sixteen banks were robbed at gunpoint
all by a nobody, wearing a moustache.
Jewelers say he was casing the joint,
then thieving gold, silver and cash.

One has to wonder when your name implies,
that you are indeed, actually transparent
why you would have to wear a disguise.
That just seems incoherent.

Is it then fair, for one to conclude,
aside from the furry nose glass
that you rob the banks in the nude?
Sure a good thing we can’t see your….

I’m not sure which is better
for the front page fodder:
Are you The Invisible Swindler
or the Full Moon Marauder?

For Illustration Friday’s Topic: Moustache

“Bubbles The Snitch”

“Bubbles The Snitch”
(In the style of a commercial jingle)

Plop, plop, fizz fizz,
You’s in trouble, yes you is.
Oh “Bubbles,” you’re such a rotter.
How’s it down there in the water?

You and your brothers
are quite the bothers.
All you stool pigeons
must pay for your sins.
It’s not so nice
to tattle to vice,
now you ain’t got no brass
to cover your ass.

Plop, plop, fizz fizz,
You’s in trouble, yes you is.
Bet you are hoping for wishes,
How is it sleeping with the fishes?

You’re  in such a snitching rut,
can’t just keep it shut?
It’s ok, it’s no sweat.
Everyone will soon forget.
No protection and no fame,
we’ll even have to change your name.
They’ll never know if you were poor or rich,
only that you were “Bubbles The Snitch”

Plop, plop, fizz fizz,
You’s in trouble, yes you is.
Snitch snitch, what a snake,
how’s the bottom of the lake?

For Illustration Friday’s: Under Water

Lew Gordon

Lew Gordon: Private Eye
(In the style of a film noir limerick)

He hides behind the tree in the park,
lurks in the shadows and the dark,
following at night,
he stays out of sight,
and he never even leaves a mark.

He’s become the master of disguise,
the privatest of private eyes.
Quick-change like chameleon,
speaks Italian and Korean.
The silent, slickest spy of spies.

Sewing trenchcoats to fit in,
of wallpaper, wood or tin,
hides in the fog,
or dressed as a dog
he has even painted his skin.

So when you feel someone’s  in your midst
know that Lew Gordon exists.
It’s not a mirage,
he’s in camouflage,
And now you’re on his watch list.

“The Barman”

“The Barman”

Coming into town from far around,
all the folks, both clean and sleazy,
Barman, pour another round!
This is a speakeasy, so shhh, speak easy.

Hope you know the password here,
don’t form any lines outside.
Wines, spirits, tonics, beers,
but only if you can get inside.

The bouncer, bar tender, the cigarette vendor,
he’s a one stop libations compound.
When laws are passed that make him an offender,
they take their operation underground.

So drink and be merry, but no need to riot
so check your weapons at the door.
Enjoy, but speak easy, so keep it quiet.
Psst, Barman, can I have another pour?

Dinah Mite

Dinah Mite

(In the style of a commercial jingle)

Pop, pop, bang, bang!
The loudest member of the gang.

When the vault needs opening,
just give her a shout.
When you see her spark the string,
everyone get out!

Pop, pop, bang, bang!
The fiery lady in the gang.

A distraction from the cops,
up in flames and smoke.
The cops, they drop, when they hear the pops,
it’s the perfect hiding cloak.

Pop, pop, bang, bang!
The loose cannon in the gang.

But once she fought with the boss,
he told her what to do.
Dinah is no the one to cross,
their relationship is through.

Pop, pop, bang, bang!
Boss will never again harangue.
Pop, pop, bang, bang!
The loudest member of the gang.

For Illustration Friday: Spark

Professor “Chops” Bronson

Professor “Chops” Bronson

(In the style of a mad, groovy, funk beat sung by a shirtless rocker)

In between teaching English lit,
he’s with the mob, can you dig it?

Drivin’ to the high school, list’nin’ to funk,
with Mickey “The Mole”, stuffed in his trunk.

Grading papers, dancin’  the blues,
after pourin’ Mickey new cement shoes.

Who would have known, he’s a ruthless killer,
while he casually reads Arthur Miller.

(Chorus)
Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Baby, oh yeah.
Twain, London and Dickenson
Riding in his sixty nine Grem-lin
Drugs, Extortion and Hemmingway
What can he say, it’s really great pay!
Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Baby, oh yeah.

On the way to the hideout, he’s always swerving
too busy reading Washington Irving.

Drops off a shipment of a kilo of blow
Then right back to Edgar Allen Poe.

This contract work is totally radical,
lots of income while on sabbatical.

(Chorus)
Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Baby, oh yeah.
Twain, London and Dickenson
Riding in his sixty nine Grem-lin
Drugs, Extortion and Hemmingway
What can he say, it’s really great pay!
Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Baby, oh yeah.