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?