~
And now, retired and free
I shall adjourn, a lucky Texan
Who ran, that company
Since '93, for ol' Exxon

Big oil, was in my blood
Now its good bye, to high 'n dry days
Retirement's a flood
Of gushing high pay

Regrets, I've had a few
There was a time, things got freaky
When Hazelwood got stewed
And then Valdez, got so leaky

We spewed, that tanker's load
All in a gush, and such a blithe way
Alaska's my commode
I'm flush with high pay

Yes, there were times, and more than one
We gouged you at, the pumps for fun
Now you can't drive, your SUV
And not arrive, in poverty
And when crude spikes, it makes my day
A tight supply pays!

Four hun-dred million bucks!
My parachute, is so golden
For stock-holders, it sucks
They didn't know, "when to fold 'em"

And now, I'm livin' large
I got mink socks, on that last buy-craze
Just put, it on my charge
I've lost those shy ways

For I am that man, I'm sure you know
On whom his board, thus far bestowed
A massive wad in optioned stocks
Three chauffeured Rolls, ten platinum woks
My Keogh crows, "Ex-CEO's
Get all the high pay!"


*******************************************
In the same vein, following is a redo of 'Wry Gay' from last week. It was kindly pointed out to me by several knowledgable forum members that pacing was way off in several lines... I've tried to remedy that failing and fix several non-sequiters as well. For future parodies, I promise to no longer rely solely on unsolicited lyrics to original songs obtained in the Borg chat room at Startrek.com--

*******************************************
~Wry Gay~

And now, my cage I've sprung
No iron bars, could e'er hold Lechter
My guard, tender and young
Now egg-fu lung, I'll dissect her!

I've missed, two legged beef
I used to stalk, at TG Friday's
Now for, comic relief
I'll eat some wry gays!

Buffoons, I've had a few
And spewed Spade, Couldn't swallow
I chewed some funny Jews
Mormons too—flayed and hollowed!

Then dined, on Rosie 'O'
You'll never guess, now how much I weigh
They go, well with Merlot
I ate those wry gays!

Yes there were mimes, Marcel Marseau
And Ellen next, I miss her show
Been through 'em all, yes even louts
Ewww! Carrot Top—I spit him out!
Then Ebert's tripe—it made my day
Haggis from wry gays!

I've fed, on half-wit prey
I've had my fill, and grew restive
My new, select buffet
Of Sapphic wags, 'tis more festive

Out-thought, then carved 'em up
They were beguiled, by all my sly praise
The best, I've ever supped
Were all those wry gays!

For I am that man, slathered in clot
Feeding on damned, comics he caught
Who culled the fools, not silent lambs
His 'stand-up' take--on Atkin's plan
The splatter shows, who dealt the blows
And ate those wry gays!