The Boss

Mr Richards, he's da boss,

full of lip, & calls the shots.

Everything must be controlled,

& his persona is somewhat cold.

& so it got me creatively thinking,

what if green juices, he started drinking.

Therapy, for Mr Richards,

change his territory, his scene, his picture.

Take away his money, take away his job,

take away his honey, and shut his gob.

Send him to the Congo, on a plane,

make him dance to the Bongo's, again and again.

Strip him butt naked, and paint him blue,

then send him some Reike, we love you.

Give him some dreadlocks, what a work of art,

excellent intentions, in my heart.

Bathe him in liquid, L.S.D,

that should fix him hypothetically.

No bananas, no juice, no tea,

feed him marijuana, exclusively.

Send him to a rainbow festival,

where men expose their testicles.

Just like the beginning, arses bare,

naked women everywhere.

Where bearded hippies chant and sing,

that's so horrendous I almost pity him.

Take away the pizza pepperoni,

replace with a peyote ceremony.

Video the whole darn thing,

big brother show developing.

Damage his ego mash his thoughts,

then set him free, let people gaup.

Leave him stranded for around a year,

until he understands me loud and clear.

Free package holiday,for Mr Richards,

but will he love by the end or get stricter?

Just another daydream wild and novice,

keeping my head low, down in the office.