“Most of life is just protection money.”
Life wakes you from a dream to tell you that.
Like when it told you there’s no Easter Bunny.
The Big Boss has a voice that’s rich and plummy;
his limo’s like a predatory cat.
“Most of life is just protection money,”
he drawls, words dropping from his teeth like honey,
as he adjusts his Muga silk cravat.
“And by the way, pal — lose the Easter Bunny?”
His suits bunch up your shirtfront, whisper, “Dummy,
you got some style. We’d like a piece of that.”
Most of life is just protection money.
Police, good roads. . . The condo on a sunny
beach, the girlfriend . . .A wife who’s run to fat . . . .
You never thought there was an Easter Bunny.
“Keep your nose clean, we let you grow your tummy” —
when all is said and done, you’re fine with that.
Most of life is just protection money.
The kids want candy, not the Easter Bunny.