Confessions of a Private Banker

Ohh Yes i make a Nickel when you give me a dollar,

And my job is to make thousands  of dollars for my Lord,

The thirst of beast in insatiable,

Gulped  by greed,

And blinded by fear,

I find ways to make a dime more,

Ways and means do they really matter?

If you own a few mills, a couple of hundred thou'z do they  matter?

Grinding my way up,

They call me a survivor,

Churning in dollars for my Lord!,

Burning a hole in my Soul,

Blaming it on my Job role,

Feels nothing less than a gangster,

Involved in legal robbery of money!

Rockstar's delight , Banker's envy!

I bag a $250 mn deal for the bank,

My bosses called me the poster boy and rockstar in making !

I need a new look to suite my personality!

I hopped on to my car and drove to the most
expensive saloon, 1 hr of wait and $150 later
I get a session with Mr B,

Italian in accent,Brit in hospitality, and as expensive as an American can get,

Snap snap runs the sissior, Cutting new and old strands,

I throw my head and relax, With clear instructions to Mr. B, 'Transform me into a Rockstar!',

Ohh the feeling is nice, its cozy and relaxing!, I ease into the chair,

the chirpy sound of sissors is replaced by a rumbling roar, I asked Mr B, 'what is that all about?',

To my amusment he replied,'Sir we have gone hi~tech!', I closed my eyes with a smile on my face with sense of hapiness on going hi~tech!,

'Wallah ! Its done ! Its fabulous , its fantabulous he screamed !

' I was awestuck by his excitment in his voice and opened my eyes to see a stranger in the mirror, Bald with a gottee and pony,

I screamed that's not how bankers look this is an outrage ! this is cheating !

Mr B politely replied, 'Sir, You wanted rockstar we gave one, crisp clean and killer!

That day I swiped the plastic money to pay for Mr. B's creativity !