‘Twas the week before Christmas, when all through the town,
All the people were cheering the resigned City Clown.
The residents smiled and rallied with care,
Knowing that Sbranti would soon NOT be there.
The Pittsburgers were nestled all snug in their beds,
With visions of back-room deals that would soon be dead.
But Joe sat in his office, and removed pen from its cap,
And signed last minute agreements and other such crap.
When out in the Chambers there arose such a clatter,
Joe sprang from his lair to see what was the matter.
Away to the Chambers he flew like a flash,
But not before hiding his mountains of cash.
The moon through the roof made the City Hall glow,
And cast a shadow of evil on his minions below.
When, what to his squinty eyes should reveal,
But five Council puppets, three bought by Fed’s deal.
With a shadowy leader that would fill you with dread,
He knew in a moment it must be Old Fed.
More rapid than weasels, his puppets they came,
And Fed whistled, and shouted and called them by name!
“Now, Merl! now, Juan! now Jelani and Holland!
You, Shanelle! you, Garrett, you, Alice and Donna!
Time to cover your tracks! time to hide all the dough!
Now, Dash away! Dash away! Dash away, Joe!”
As dry leaves that after the winter rains fly,
When they meet with the citizenry that’s not keen on a lie,
They will conjure a story that’s so horrid but true,
That Garret is to be named Joe Sbranti, part 2.
And then, in a twinkling, and with such a sting,
They knew it was Federal who was pulling the strings,
As the residents recoiled with a lump in their throat,
They knew this was their fault for not rocking the vote.
Fed was dressed all in back, like the devil himself,
Aside new minion Holland, his close family elf.
A bundle of money he had flung on his back,
A right snake-oil salesman, sneaking out back.
But Joe’s eyes, how they glistened! His tongue how it slithered!
His corruption had caused dear Pittsburg to wither.
The droll little sneer, so clear on his face,
Showed that Pittsburg would soon meet Antioch’s fate.
The traffic snarls, the homeless, the increasing crime,
Lead the locals to know, that indeed it was time,
For Joe to be gone, so the City could heal,
From years of mismanagement, and bad back-room deals.
Though slender and tall, with no hair on his head,
Joe embodied a manager who employees dread.
A wink of his eye and a twist of a wrist,
Soon gave us to know he would not be missed.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his mail,
Destroying the evidence that could land him in jail.
And laying his middle finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, off to Clayton he strode.
He sprang to his car, grabbing all that he could,
An oversized paycheck and nothing much good.
But we heard him exclaim, ‘ere he strode out of sight.
‘Now you’re fucked, Pittsburg, and to all a good-night!”