(To the tune of “Uptown” by Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil, as recorded by The Crystals in 1962.)
He steps off an airplane down in Panama.
A lawyer takes his hand, and it’s planned
to be where they are.
It’s not very far.
And shortly they’re setting up a BVI
and telling him the laws in his country
there don’t apply.
He’s a lucky guy.
Cause when you go
Offshore, where people know the rules are lax.
Offshore, where no one ever pays no tax.
The creditors and wives, who’d throw knives
at you know the score.
You’re underground, you can’t be found
when you’re offshore.
Now cash ain’t the only wealth they come to hide.
They cobble real estate, feeling great
hiding under stones.
In homes nobody owns.
And lawyers. they’re doing no due diligence.
Where larceny makes sense, there’s a fence
and they hold the keys.
Sweeping in big fees.
That’s why you go
Offshore, where anyone can park some dough
Offshore, where people wink, all in the know
Where lawyers are discrete, and you’ll meet
not one honest bore.
License to deal, license to steal.
When you’re offshore. ■