Pleatherman: an ode to the yuppie*

I heard about a man to whom I may be related. He's Pleatherman.
Dyed a long time ago in the 1980's. Pleatherman. Pleatherman.
Covered with pleather (was a little too tight).
Underneath the moon in the 'burbs at night.
Maybe he'd drive ten miles a day. Once a week they'd spot him and here's what they'd say:

"Here he comes, he's a man, got some land, he's Pleatherman
smile on his face, Mac on his lap,
he's Pleatherman, Pleatherman, Pleatherman."

Comes out of the office once a day for his sunbed,
wasn't known to say much but "don't make me red"

So, modern day, for my tofu, I've waited,
just like the man of Pleather whom I may be related.
Poured him a drink, which he'd ask for it 'Lite'
appear to be annebriated, yet so polite.
Maybe he'd drive ten miles a day, once a week they'd spot him and here's what they'd say:

"Here he comes, he's a man, got some land, he's Pleatherman,
smile on his face, Mac on his lap.
He's Pleatherman, Pleatherman, Pleatherman."

Pleatherman, Pleatherman
Shake his hand, he's Pleatherman, buy some shares, he's Pleatherman,
Shame he's dead, I saw his Benz,
all that's left of Pleatherman, Pleatherman.
Latte with skim, he's Pleathermaaaaaaan!

*sung to the tune of "Leatherman"