The Man W(ho)

Ho, ho, ho, ho.

You’re the man, you’re the boss, you’re the pilot;
You’re an ace, and your jokes are a riot;
You’re the prince, you’re the dude, you’re the favorite--
They told you all that, and you fell for it.

But you’ll have to wait to get what you deserve
On account of pity has such a learning curve

Ho, ho.

You can climb right on up in those pockets
If it works well for you, well, why knock it?
If the five of the nine want to fake it,
If everything’s fixed, then why break it?

Familiar faces in the cabinet room
It looks like Daddy’s got a long silver spoon

Cigar ashes all over your bed
They don’t resemble anything you said
Now you’re the golden goose, the trusty mount
You must be getting a little raw where it counts.

Ho, ho, ho, ho.

Where there’s smoke, there is fire,
There are mirrors & wire,
Chains and trap-doors and fancy attire.
Where there’s a big show, it’s a pretty sure bet
There’s a name, and some lines, and a marionette.

The five-star pushers come with fire and lead;
They’re going to wash their hands, soon as they paint yours red.
Your opaque sky holds your false array--
They don’t resemble anything you tried to say.
You can rule the rest with your crocodile pout,
But I’m not gonna let you rule me…
Or rule me out.

Ho, ho, ho.

C. 2001 James M. Davidson