Ricky rushes madly all the day long,
He’s petrified things will turn out all wrong;
His two nervous eyes seem made of green rock,
That shift like the pendulum of a clock;
Keep up with the Joneses, he must, he must,
Or all of his dreams will turn to grey dust;
His sad sour life is a merry-go-round,
And Fear chases him like a hungry hound;
Tragically, he lives at a breakneck pace,
With worrisome wrinkles on his blank face;
Ricky’s afraid he just might go crazy,
The truth is that his future’s quite hazy;
He needs to run, run, run, and buy, buy, buy,
But he never stops to ask himself why.