The Corporate Fat Man

Crisp white shirt
Little piggy eyes
A bit too much hair gel 
To perfect your disguise

Your signatures a bit different
It has to be a match
Have another go please
On the spare contract batch

I'll give you a settlement figure
Jaw drops to the floor
"Don't worry Mrs Curry
I'll play about with it some more" 

You'll walk out of the showroom
Thinking you got the best deal
That feeling of satisfaction 
Is very far from real

I'm the coporate fatman
I'll pull your pants down
"You sure you don't want a test drive?"
He says with a forced frown

Am I too high maintenance? 
Or is it 'cause I'm not male? 
Do I fit the bill for
A perfect gullable sale? 

His fingertips are blistered 
From pushing around his pen
"Have you got the same job title?
Can you please sign this again?"

What's your yearly salary?
Does he need to know anymore?
The first extortionate figures
Scrumpled up on the floor

There's mud all over the seats still
Here's twenty pounds free fuel
We can't have our money factory
Open to ridicule

I pull out of the car park
As they rub their hands with glee
"See you in three years Mrs Curry
Another conservatory for me!"