The bank

We're the Bank. We're not your friend. We want those records

And we want them sent this afternoon

Or your gross expenses will balloon

And you'll only have yourself to thank

Write "attention clerk", 'cause it's the way we work

And we're the bank

We're the bank, get a grip, get in line

And in triplicate we'll need for sure

Everything you've ever signed before

As to cost we haven't mentioned yet to you

You can bet on one thing,

You'll be at the closing when we do

Your tax returns are ours to keep, with what you earn

Until the final sleep, and even then

We've assured ourselves, at your expense,

Crossing t's and dotting all the i's

To be paid in full within a day or two

Of your demise

And we will call, a million times, for bills and forms

That you will never find, and we'll insist

That without these we cannot progress

When we have these documents in hand

We'll assess time lost and probably raise your cost

By several grand

We are the bank, with walls of stone, and heads of steel

And though in ads we're shown to smile and nod

This is PR if there ever was

So just forget that warm and friendly bit

Because I swear by god, it's a complete and utter

Crock of shit