On every seventh day the Lord can rest.
He knows that Goldman Sachs will do its best
To work away at that for which He’d hanker:
A pot of dough for each investment banker.
As He looks down at us from high above,
The Lord’s not interested in peace and love
And such as that. The Lord has got this itch
To see the Goldman Sachs folks filthy rich.
He wishes they had more than what they’ve got–
Another house or two, another yacht.
His hopes for these to whom he gave the nod:
More money, as the saying goes, than God.
