The Market is a momma Bear
at least that is the poop –
no cubs around reporting
capturing the scoop,
The bottom of the cage is void
there’s no more muck to rake,
Yahoos now reporting –
all the news is fake.
The obits all are bloated
a virus spread like cheese,
elbows get the worst of it
it’s where we’re told to sneeze.
Everybody works from home
the fridge is way too near,
smoke’em if you got’em –
have yourself a beer.
Every day is casual
the world has gone to pot –
where was I?
No comments:
Post a Comment