At The Post-Apocalyptic Door-To-Door Salesman Convention, Antarctica, 2099

Bill! Bill Mahonney, is that you I see?
Surprised? I’m glad you ran into me

Son of a bitch, how the hell’s it going?
Wait, don’t answer, your success is showing

Is that the latest bio-suit you’ve got?
That thing’s like a Porsche, but does it run hot?

Oh! I just remembered I need to go
Back to my car, would you care to follow?

Man, you’re the hottest thing since World War III
My products are crap, unfortunately 

How do you scavenge with such a finesse
My men and me are finding only stress

We’re almost there, so I need to ask you
If we join forces our success will be true

Before you answer let me get my bag
I see it in your face, burning my flag

I’ve got news for you and your company
You’re gonna make me a ton of money

I wouldn’t suggest that you walk away
This is your last chance, what do you say?

Your answer’s still no, I’m sorry to hear
Too bad your family won’t see you next year

I took from my car a little device
An ace up my sleeve, your life in a vice

Quite simply put, it will cut off your air
And empty your suit from all but despair

Here is a pen, you can sign on this line
The alternate choice, on death you may dine