A Forced Retiree

Who had gone to the Headquarters With my real age and a wagging tongue? Who at The Board pounded me with mortars From a determined snitching lung? I guess a fellow while still standing Didn’t aromatic gossip mind In the area of Image Rebranding A trusted helper of cops to a crook find! Though, I could’ve sworn Some fluffy cushion was the chap offered For the journey that should have one worn, Signaling that an honor had been conferred. And there his fee was cleanly settled For Good Flesh and Bones en-route rattled! What next does A Forced Retiree: New hopes recline on God, The Referee?