Rogue Trader

The accountant in his pinstripe
With his Power Point presentation
Shows us rows of figures
Adjusted for deflation

Glum, dumb, and numbed
We sit at boardroom table;
As he flicks his hieroglyphics
I dream of Tracy Grable.

He talks of liabilities,
Shows our plunging bank reserves,
While I think of Tracy’s body
And her lovely swelling curves.

This year’s loss is fifty million
Compared with last year’s gain.
Last week I walked her slowly home
And kissed her in the rain.

He exposes dodgy dealings
My disastrous sub-prime sales
I love the way she ties her hair
And paints her fingernails.

We’ve a crisis of liquidity
We’re deeply in the red
I wonder what I need to do
To get her into bed.

Our shares have fallen through the floor
They’ve hit a record low
Tonight I’ll take her out to dine
Then on to see a show.

The accountant’s lecture’s over
His face is grim and grey.
I’ll take her my place for a drink
And then I’m sure she’ll stay.

The boss gets slowly to his feet
He points at me ‘You’re fired!’
But I’ve got my Tracy bonus
And hold all the cash required.