The Corporate Rural Development Man
came to our little town this morn
in a car as large
as a garbage barge,
and began to thus tootle his horn:
"Howdy-do, you good people of Tinyville!
What a lovely li'l place y'got here.
I just wanted to say
all your fears please allay;
from this old boy you've nothing to fear."
He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves,
and he offered cigars to the guys.
"And now, let's get down
to improving your town,"
stated he, blinking pigulent eyes.
He gestured in scorn at the grassy town square
with it's statue of our local hero:
"Wasted space, you must see,
is sheer idiocy,
and adds up to a balance of zero."
But we'll build you a strip mall by June or July;
incidentally, I bought all the land."
He chortled with glee:
"Put your trust, folks, in me;
we'll develop this dump hand-in-hand!"
"Now, we're bulldozing out the old Applegate farm,
and the widow McPherson's, as well.
Got a quick-money slant
on a rendering plant,
and I've heard you get used to the smell."
He told us our theater would soon be torn down,
and a Burger King raised in its stead;
while the Michelin Man
would hawk tires on plan
once the church was demolished, he said.
But we like our town just as it is,
we protested; at which the developer roared:
"Do you think I would nix
all this progress, you hicks?!
Hell, the drawings are all on the board."
So saying, he tossed his cigar in the street
and he sauntered away to his car.
But I'm happy to state
he left town a bit late:
on a rail, dressed in feathers and tar.