They call him 4 Finger Greg, he could kick a keg, Works down at the DMV, dealing with the leg, His wife’s name is Peg, things never aligned, No matter how he begged, it stayed undefined, She’d just cross her leg, emotions out of reach, Greg on the clock at the DMV counter speech, Where the tax payers wait and the New York drivers pace, He moves at his own speed, never quick with the case, So he stepped out with Meg, it went off the deep end, That situation got heavy, hard to defend then, Still Greg in the mix, always pushing his luck, In a small-town system where the timing is stuck, Kissed and run, thought he’d be done, But karma don’t sleep, it weighs a ton, Now he’s back at the window like nothing was spun, Just Greg at the DMV when the shift is done.
