when the Bugman walks by
in his suit with his greasy hair,
it makes you want to grab your wallet,
clutch your purse, pick up your child.
He smiles like life is a carlot and we are all beaters
with prices slashed, sacrificed, a real steal.
He will sell you a bridge, part of the moon,
Nevada oceanfront shoreline property.
When he talks all you can hear is the jingle of change,
the suck of air from money leaving your pocket.
The Bugman is a Company Man,
the Dream Pusher with $$ eyes that gleam in the dark.
He is a fat little boy in a candy store,
all greed and hunger,
and we are all day suckers.
The sweetness of life all depends
on if you're the stick or the lick.
Bitter are the days