We're certified Accountants, and we really know our trade
Over hills of piled paper, and dusty books we wade
Though people think we're stuffy, we really do have soul
But we're mostly very happy with our entries in a row.

Our elbows are all shiny, our fingers quick and lean
We never pad, we never plug, we keep our journals clean
We calculate the profit, and face up to the loss
We'd never force a figure, to satisfy the boss.

We put our debits on the left, and credits on the right
We pound our calculators, and stay up half the night
When we wake up in the morning, we greet the world with grumpy looks
We're often pretty fussy, until we cook our books.

We used to have accounting clerks, they had that human touch
But now we have computers, since they can do so much
And when computers lose our files, we really make a fuss
We long for carbon paper, a system we can trust.

Now someday all the columns will be added, I suppose
And when the entries are all made, and all the books are closed
I wish to be recorded in that Ledger in the Sky
And I hope that they don't tell me that my balance was too high.

 

—Bill Christensen, 2003