Joe Schmo

JOE SCHMO, THE CEO Mistah Joe Schmo, the CEO, lives in apartments devine; And fills his belly with sweet cherry jelly, while drinking his Thunderbird wine. Joe Schmo's wife, the former Ms. Fife, lays in the pool at their condo; And oils her tummy while she plays gin rummy, with her friends at the Club Deliondo. Their young son Willy, likes to act quite silly, while playing at the School of the Arts; And leers at the girls while he pulls on their curls, while vying for a feel of their parts. Their little girl Sissy, she acts real prissy, while teasing the boys at the school; She's got mo' money, than any other honey, and picks who she wants for a fool. {meanwhile} Big Sal Lowe, the dusting pro, cleans the apartments devine; And washes Joe's dishes while making her wishes, for a life of ease and recline. She has one boy, her life and her joy, who God created rather badly; He gave him no bells, just the sickle cells, and now he proceeds rather sadly. To Joe Sal pleaded, "Can't you see what's needed?" "My son's in a desperate fight!" To Sal Joe said, "My firm's in the red!" "I have no money tonight!" So Sal goes lookin', for cash to be tookin' But finds no one to share; She bides her time, in the charity line, her son slides while they sit there. The room is hot, her son breathes not, while Joe caresses a whiskey; She grieves her loss, and curses her boss, whose profit margin was risky. {meanwhile} Mrs. Conchita, first name Rita, cleans the cubes in Joe's building; She empties his cans, while she makes her plans, about her familie's gilding. With four kids today, maybe more on the way, She needs an increase in her money; But what will she find, when she speaks to Joe's kind, "You've maxed your position, now honey!" And Rita wonders why, pie in the sky, after spending so long in one place; Ten years strong, why don't she belong?, Why can't they at least keep pace? Her man works long, but works for a song, he was born with the wrong nationality; To talk to his boss, is to end with a loss; for he has Mistah Joe's rationality. So they keep on pluggin', without any huggin', They do the best that they can; They continue to strive, just to stay alive, Tho being poor is not their main plan. {meanwhile] Mr. Tom Fletcher, the ad-room sketcher, works for Joe in his tower; Tom's a hard worker, he is no shirker, for his family doing all in his power. But the raises are few, when Joe's on cue, Tom can't even get a dime; Mistah Joe says, "My margin's less", and forgets about Tom everytime. Now Tom's wife works, a-doin' the jerk, in a place that they call Sin City; Not a job she would choose, but there's nothing to lose Tom needs help feeding the kitty. She makes more dough, than Tom does tho, although she doesn't remind him; Tom has his pride, and she's on his side, forever, where it may lead them. And she sees Joe's face, every night at the place, he sits and watches as she dances; He offers her money, and calls her "honey", but she won't take any chances. For she's Tom's mate, she will not skate, no matter what Joe may give her; For she knows him well, he can go to hell, To go his way makes her shiver. {back at the ranch} Now, Mistah Joe Schmo, the CEO, he sits in his mansion of power; And talks on his phone, to any old clone, who is awed by Joe in his tower. Mistah Joe thinks, [you here me finks], that he is the one and the first; Give'em some cash, and lessen his stash? Joe laughs, and quenches his thirst. And the former Miss Fife, lives the good life, she has young boys she calls "honey"; And she hates Joe Schmo, but won't tell him so, for that would cut off the money. And Mr. Silly-Willy, who some call Billy, at the school he does no learning. Why learn today? Joe will pass some day; and leave him money for a-burning. While their sexy little girl, does her hair in a curl; and trolls for boys with the looks; With Mistah Joe dead, she'll make her own bed, she needs no learning from the books.   {so now} For all of their cursin', each and every person, there's not a thing they can do; Joe and his snobs, got'em trapped in their jobs, for leavin' is hard to go thru. For they're all dependent, on Joe resplendent, how can they make a new start? If they'd only realize, cut Joe down to size, to do so would prob'ly be smart. For there's other jerks, who offer dif'rent perks, that may not be as awful as Joe; If they leave Joe now, Joe might say "WOW", and on the next more respect bestow. Hey trendsetter! You can do better! Than serving in Joe's little swarm; Don't do what Joe say, make your own way, to do so can do you no harm. And you Ms. Lowe, might make more dough, and for your kids, get a health plan; If you have another son, he might get to run, and make it to life as a man. Tho it's not your fault, you can bring it to a halt, leave Joe as quick as you can. There are other leanings that do need cleanings, Rita Conchita can do those; Don't mess with Joe's ruins, find her own doins' and to Joe, his weakness expose. For there's many other people, that pay to clean their steeple, and brag about how much they pay; Find three or four, she don't need any more, and she can send Joe on his way. And you, Mr. Fletcher, I thought you're a sketcher! Jobs should be easy to find; It's only economics, why not draw comics? just do it!, and leave Mr. Joe behind. Your wife could go far, from the stage at the bar, if she had but a chance; With just a little more money, from you big honey, on the stage, no longer she'd dance. It's up to you all! This ain't no ball, you must make the difficult choices; And change your life, no matter the strife, listen now to  inner voices. Leave Joe's tower, for you have the power, to do things your very own way; Do away with the ages, start new pages, and do it, this very day. Written April 18th, 2001 © on Jun 09 2001 05:45 PM PST, Brazos Mason   0 • 10