Grand Poo-Bah
She struts out of the golden elevator
like the Grand Marshall of Macy’s Thanksgiving parade
Crystal high-heels rhythmically clicking
on the gleaming marble floor
Pompadour bouffant hair
that’s styled so platinum electric
Purple Persian silk dress
accentuated by a
diamond studded heart-shaped necklace
Sashay walking with such sexy flair ...
her haughty, ice-chiseled chin held high
Looks that carry a distant, superior air
She’s letting you know,
she’s the Grand Poo-bah —
she don’t dispense hellos
She’s queen caliph, empress shah ...
She’s just letting you know,
she’s the Grand Poo-bah
Her affinity for making grandiose entrances
into boardroom meetings is legendary
She loves telling the bigwig execs to pipe down,
to park their ego tubas
She’s orchestrating the show,
she’s the Grand Poo-bah
Making sure that you know,
she’s Miss Machiavellian maestro
She never dispenses any rah-rah,
it’s so unbecoming of a Grand Poo-bah
Her title didn’t come by proxy or election,
it was bestowed by a hereditary designation
Like Papa, like daughter ...
She issues grim decrees,
telling you to get your business house in order
She loves having underlies lay the red carpet down,
to give royal reverence to her ka
This lets everybody know,
she’s the imperial Grand Poo-bah
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