A Wallstreet Plea

Please pray for me, as I suffer from financialitis, a debilitating disease which affects me and those who may or may not come into contact with me. I write the following as a plea for understanding.
Financialitis is a poorly understood inflammation of the importance and greed glands which can lead to behaviors that run counter to the good of society as a whole. We sufferers of financialitis often feel that our actions are disconnected from our, ugh, fellow, so to speak, human beings.

Four million six or
Eight million three
Who’s sure what I make
Except God and me

I have not the time
What with working so hard
To count my damn money
And pay my house guard

I myself never worry
About ethics and such
Those things are for fools
To use in a clutch

My morals are somewhere
But I’m sure they’re so pure
I just keep them well hidden
‘til they figure the cure

I mean, why create value
Or something to use
When to bet on real failure
Means you really can’t lose

All’s perfectly legal
All’s like aged wine
But if I get caught
It’s merely a fine

No jail time for me
No lack of esteem
It can’t be my fault
It’s just but routine

We’re the monied sector
The affluent few
You’re my child’s keeper
No time to know you

You make my clothing
My shoes and my food
I’m sooo much better
Not to sound rude!

But I have the money
The power and all
To say I don’t care
How have you the gall!

I’m not like those takers
You dumb worker bees
Who only clean toilets
Or wash my Mercedes

You must be so dumb
You struggling slob
You could have made my choice
If you had my good job

If you had been born
an arrogant prick like me
To work hard means only
You’re richer, you see

I may be so rich
with my values askewed
But you too could proceed
With your fortune accrued

It’s not my fault
Your parents were poor
Blame someone else
Don’t knock on my door

My values may be laughable
But I must say it’s quite right
That money’s supreme
Now, that isn’t trite!

So, you go ahead
And demand fifteen an hour
While decrying my abysmal
Ivory clad tower

Hey, ivory’s not cheap
Being rich is hard work
Buying good influence
Is not for some jerk

You have to know
Unlike teachers of ours
How to pad the fat palms
Of our regula-tors

So don’t come running
And seek money free
Just ‘cuz you’re too dumb
To plant your own money tree

I am quite sure
If I say it enough
To rob from the poor
And take all their stuff

Is much more noble
Not to say pleasanter too
Than to limit the rich
And all that we do

For we work sooo hard
Unlike you poor jerks
And we deserve it all
And all of its perks

From healthcare to haven
God, it’s a bitch
The right to be human
Is only earned by us rich

Don’t think your hard work
Earns a place in the sun
When influence declares
That money has won.

So, pray to your god
I ask so humbly
For my financialitis
So preys upon me

Pray that I lose
My shame and my dread
But keep all the money
Hidden under my bed