Business Days

The other day, while smoking weed,
I realized a serious need.
My wallet was empty, my bank account dry,
I worked twelve-hour days, so I wondered why.

I needed cash, I needed funds,
For drugs and girls and booze and guns.

So I woke up my roommate, the unemployed bum,
To help me prepare for the mayhem to come.
He grabbed the shotguns, and I grabbed the Uzis,
Some meth in glass pipes and beer cans in Koozies.

We loaded the weapons and onto our chests,
We strapped on the holsters and bulletproof vests.
We put on our ski masks and smoked crack in big rocks,
Put shells in the twelve gauge and clips in the Glocks.

We wrote out our wills and explained in some letters,
Why we were doing this, for worse or for better.
We were too poor to carry on longer,
We were both strong but the debt was much stronger.

So off to the bank we went, armed to the teeth,
And ready to fight to the end if need be.

We ran to the front doors, which were locked and secure,
They seemed to be closed, so we knocked to be sure.
Nobody came, and for this we’d not planned,
Feeling conspicuous with weapons in hand.

I saw on my watch what I had missed before,
We’d done this on Sunday, the Day of the Lord.
The banks were all closed, and so we made haste,
To hold up the post office so the day wasn’t a waste.