Tycoon

 

Tycoon

Grave buster, rob Custer

You’re the soul to my nightmares

Fright to my hole wares

 

I write poets into rhyming

You’re the Robin Hood to my timing

Silver lining?

There’s a penny

In my coat pocket’s torn.

 

Silk duster, jaw buster

You’d outsell your own lustre

Still I’m charmed by your craze

I’m defined by my judging

In this forty line drudging

To console my own views

Seek forgiveness in wooden pews

 

Tycoon, you spin silk webs sticky

I can’t help but lickedy splitty

You’re the sick to my thespian-ism

I’ll out-sell you in this euphuism