Hands of Flan: A Landlord’s Lament

[expressive vocals, folksy twang vocals, high fidelity, studio quality] **[Verse 1]** Oh, my poor son is a lord, don't you see? His castle's built on rent, not on industry. He feeds his little family with homes he doesn’t own, But now the serfs won't pay him, and he’s all alone. **[Pre-Chorus]** His hands, oh his hands, they're soft as a dove, Never held a shovel, never pushed or shoved. **[Chorus]** My poor little lord baby, oh, what will he do? His hands are like gelatin, all wobbly and blue. Hands of flan or hands of jello, No passive income for this fellow. **[Verse 2]** The moratorium's here, the rent is delayed, And my little lord baby, his bills go unpaid. He cannot lift a finger; his hands are dessert, When he tries to labor, his poor wrists hurt. **[Pre-Chorus]** His hands, oh his hands, they’re fragile and weak, Not a callus or a blister ever dared to sneak. **[Chorus]** My poor little lord baby, oh, what will he do? His hands are like gelatin, all wobbly and blue. Hands of flan or hands of jello, No passive income for this fellow. **[Bridge]** Oh, the serfs are so mean, they won't pay his fee, They don't understand his aristocracy. He’s a delicate flower, a fragile souffle, Without his rent checks, he might fade away! **[Chorus]** My poor little lord baby, oh, what will he do? His hands are like gelatin, all wobbly and blue. Hands of flan or hands of jello, No passive income for this fellow. **[Outro]** So pity my lord baby, a landlord by trade, A victim of tenants who won't get him paid. His hands of dessert will shake in the breeze, As he dreams of a life where he collects with ease.