Trapped in a crime of not payin'
Taxes to the IRS—they're bereft. . .
Dough undisclosed by Tim.
He spoke before the committee
And they asked him, "Tim how could you fail. . .
So many G's!

"Timothy, Timothy, we'd unearth it, you know.
Timothy, Timothy, good sense this don't show!"

Scummy as hell—at Paulson's feet
Is where he learned, from that chrome-domed troll
Who helped Main Street's defeat.
One of them worked hard to screw you;
The wigless one was a filthy pig.
His boy will screw you too.

Timothy, Timothy, he'll cook the books anew.
Timothy, Timothy, payments overdue.

So, Tim pays his back taxes and then,
He gets a fast pass from the committee,
'cause, in truth, he's one of them.
Their gullets are a full as they can be
With swag their bagmen a pulling down,
All act criminally.

Crimin'lly. . . .