I'm writing em in meetings
I'm writing em in my head
I'm writing em in my bed
I'm writing em on the train
Just call me out on a Limb-Rick.


Oh the pundits all sing the same song
On the tube, on the web all day long
He promised us hope
Now it seems he can’t cope
What’s right isn’t news. Just what’s wrong

It’s broken, it’s shot, and it’s failed
The complainers and whiners all railed
But the one’s charged to fix it
Only hear “No…we nix it”
All the ships with wise captains have sailed

“They’re crooks and dishonest!” Well, duh?
“They’ve grabbed all the dough!” Yeah, uh huh.
“They’re sharks!” That may be.
“They don’t care.” I agree.
“Think it’s funny?” I do, ha ha ha.

When String theory came down the pike
Like guitar strings they said, as you strike
They said big rubbers bands
They said infinite strands
Seems they never metaphor they didn’t like.

The Zuccotti team looks all the same
College Grads, mostly white, suburb tame
But working class folk
Think they’re mostly a joke
They just want to get into the game.

The gamers on Wall St. contended
No harm and no foul was intended
For if crime didn’t pay
Why would anyone play?
As for rules, they’re just there to be bended.

In searching for food continental
He Googled and almost went mental
Finding hotels and airlines
And receding hair lines
And cures for all aches and pains dental.