Occasioned by the Not-so-great Stock Market Crash of 1997:

Things are gettin' bad, things are gettin' strange.
They're tradin' away my home on the range.
My retirement plan just got rearranged;
Takin' my rocket launcher to the Stock Exchange.

Traders on the floor, computers in their hand,
Three piece suits and tanning-booth tanned.
Screaming out dollars to beat the band.
I'll bury them all in East River sand.

Cuz some got the father and some got the son,
But I had a big ol' mutual fund.
And now I'm going downtown on the "One":
The market just hit its final home run.

(Repeat Verse 1 while smacking stockbrokers in the head)