TRASH FISH
© Greg Keeler 1994

Hey, Mr. Real Estate Man
(to Hey Mr. Tambourine Man)

Chorus:
Hey, Mr. real estate man, find some lots for me.
I am liquid. There's no place my cash is flowing to.
Hey, Mr. real estate man, find some lots for me,
And on that little dotted line I will sign under you.

I heard the evening news say the stock market's in a rut,
And if I don't lose my butt,
My money will stand there but still not earning.
The interest rate amazes me. Cash stranded in the bank
Is drawing damn near blank.
Four per cent is all the thanks I get for saving.

Chorus.

Get me a safe bet on some ten acre ranchettes,
That renters might sublette,
Near an airport that takes jets,
While my 400 K net
Waits only for investors to come following.
I'm ready to buy anything. I'm ready for to sign.
The future will be mine.
Just show me the bottom line,
And swear you won't go over it.

Chorus

Find me land with covenants that let me subdivide
Right up to the timberline,
Far above the interstate
With an excellent viewscape
And a golf course that's first rate,
Far above the twisted reach of low-rent locals.
Then I'll drive away with diamond rings in my Mercedes Benz
Silhouetted by my friends, who are richer than I am
In Rolls Royces bright and new
And would never speak to you.
Let me forget about my debts until they're profits.

Chorus