(With apologies, once again, to Stephen Sondheim and his demon barber)

Attend the tale of Harvey Pitt,
Who many thought was quite unfit
To choose who’ll be the referees
For people who paid him those fabulous fees.
It didn’t seem a perfect fit
For Harvey Pitt,

The fox who guarded the henhouse.

John Biggs was set to head the board.
But big accounting firms abhorred
The thought of someone so severe.
So little birds whispered in Harvey Pitt’s ear:
“Hi, Harvey.
Yes. Harvey Pitt,
Our fox who’s guarding the henhouse:

Rid yourself of Biggs, Harvey,
Biggs might know too much.
What we need’s a guy who’s just a bit out of touch.”

But who instead would Pitt recruit?
He’d need a man of high repute,
A man whose reputation’s grand–
Distinguished except for the matter at hand.
“Judge Webster’s it,”
Said Harvey Pitt,
The fox who guarded the henhouse.

The judge was hardly a CPA.
Pitt, though, managed to win the day.
He had the votes. He didn’t tell:
Webster’s boards also emitted a smell.
Harvey’d shot himself in the foot.
This meant Harvey was done–kaput.
Saying the truth wouldn’t have been brainy:
“Webster is cleaner than Bush or than Cheney.”
Harvey, Harvey, Harvey, Harvey, Harvey.

Attend the tale of Harvey Pitt,
Who thought he needn’t be legit
To regulate the SEC
For people as fond of the foxes as he.
Bye Harvey,
Poor Harvey Pitt,
The fox who guarded the henhouse.