The Cookbook

We're cooking the books, we're cooking the books here We were taking a bath So I took to the math Everyone with a pension Pay attention: You just lost your job As your life as your wife and my kid There's some blood in your grits From your hand which I bit I'll be throwing a shit fit Grab your pitchforks and torches And take to the nochés You think that we'll work? I'm going to jail, I'm going to jail now But I'll be phoning it in Slicing garlic so thin It liquifies in the pan Luca Brasi and me Start our own brasserie Open up out on Sing-Sing I've got my hand in my tin Honey jars spread from Crawford To bars, I make a... killing Ask Jeffrey Skilling You don't understand greed It's not fun it's a need [hold] It's the pork not the beans Not the peaches, the cream That you want in your belly Take what I'm selling And pass me the jelly Excuse me, preserves Tell me what do you think I deserve?