He’s an American schmuck, don’t even know what hit him. Cancer stick dangles from the bobbling head of the neck-tied bandit trading commodities on the floor of the exchange.
He’s banking on America, making swaps on his futures, running out of options as the interest rates rise faster than his cholesterol levels can clog the streets to his heart ; while back at home, his wife bangs Paco the grass man on the kitchen floor.
He’s an American schmuck, don’t even know what hit him.