Last night up on the ridge A whippoorwill sang Its incessant sweet song In the thick, firefly darkness. Dante was right to make Hell A place without birds. They fill the world with music And ask nothing in return. The purity of sweetness Without the demand for profit. What a lovely notion. - mce
We salute you, Gentlemen, And Ladies, God bless you, (He clearly has) We bless you, We support you, At par, So far, Lest you bring us all down, (That was the threat, Was it not? ) You are so Wicked smart, Except those few, Who couldn't hold on, For our gravy train, To respond, For those few, We hope last year's bonus, Will help you survive, Your trip down the tubes, (Sigh) And for all, We are led to believe, That you're back on your feet, And doing quite well, We were glad to help out, Your derivative pleasure, Just makes our hearts soar, And to help you to help The economy heal, We're taxing your janitors More than your managers 'Cause we know you're the source Of all job creation, Within this great nation, How do we know this? Well, We've been told this Been told by some very fine folk, Some folk whom you... own? For sure there are doubters, But we question their wisdom, We don't even think that They're being good citizens, But there are some suspicions, My well heeled good friends, That what's good for you folk, Might be just a bit toxic, To those of us few, Who compose, That diminishing remnant, Of what once we could call, The vast middle class, Today, We ain't even, Half vast. Sad to say, Now a few of us wonder, If you're not quite our friends, If you don't have our best int'rests In your schemes and your ends, All of those yachts, They're critical – right? We believe in you now, To make every thing bright, To bring our economy Back from the dead, To create all those jobs, With that barely taxed bread, So, While we're eatin' those grits, In this world that you've made, With the pols that you've bought, Just Remember my friends, Rot infects not just wood, But your hearts and your souls, And the Fire Next Time Might be more than a book It might be unhappy folk, With your asses in their sights.
I've been to kenya, all that these "charity" adverts are fuelling Is ignorance, they're presupposing All the african nations are like kindergarten, They're insulating them... it's like that: Give a man fish or give him a fishing rod, I. e.: give a man money or give him a Method creating & subsequently circulating wealth: These charitable companies are insulting African nations to be at a loss, They're only feeding european bureaucrats Who are really the only worthwhile Charitable pay-cheque givens, odds 4-5. *
A retired lady selling poppies For a feeling Committed suicide Being hunted by ninety-nine Charity organisations... Charity organisations... Start-ups akin to apps of Cue: shaved face, young, eager Beaver venom viagra statues Of jealousy... All the bankers' wives have A tier system, the origin of Charity companies (surely a wife can't be as pristine As her husband): First two don't count, Third: modern art "collector", Fifth: philanthropist, Seventh: possessor of an O. B. E. And as one bemused englishman said: King arthur and the zimmerframe table Of knights with walking sticks rather than swords: Money made people lazy, less adventurous, Let alone less tribal and communist, Adventure just became predictable, Tourism... The modern shopper is envious of The hunter gatherer... so envious He wants to look the part, but live as modern Lazy allows... after all... all the gym sessions Can't go to waste... got to run standing still: Hey! don quixote! leave the windmills! Check out the treadmills... you see a caveman Anywhere in the sweaty parlours? I don't.
What is it they say about old bankers and new tricks?
Like spiders in silk shirts they sit there Spinning tales of golden thread Bare faced lies dressed as investment In a future we will lament at best But repent Never
This is a song to celebrate banks, Because they are full of money and you go into them and all You hear is clinks and clanks, Or maybe a sound like the wind in the trees on the hills, Which is the rustling of the thousand dollar bills. Most bankers dwell in marble halls, Which they get to dwell in because they encourage deposits And discourage withdrawals, And particularly because they all observe one rule which woe Betides the banker who fails to heed it, Which is you must never lend any money to anybody unless They don't need it. I know you, you cautious conservative banks! If people are worried about their rent it is your duty to deny Them the loan of one nickel, yes, even one copper engraving Of the martyred son of the late Nancy Hanks; Yes, if they request fifty dollars to pay for a baby you must Look at them like Tarzan looking at an uppity ape in the Jungle, And tell them what do they think a bank is, anyhow, they had Better go get the money from their wife's aunt or ungle. But suppose people come in and they have a million and they Want another million to pile on top of it, Why, you brim with the milk of human kindness and you Urge them to accept every drop of it, And you lend them the million so then they have two million And this gives them the idea that they would be better off With four, So they already have two million as security so you have no Hesitation in lending them two more, And all the vice-presidents nod their heads in rhythm, And the only question asked is do the borrowers want the Money sent or do they want to take it withm. Because I think they deserve our appreciation and thanks, The jackasses who go around saying that health and happi- Ness are everything and money isn't essential, Because as soon as they have to borrow some unimportant Money to maintain their health and happiness they starve To death so they can't go around any more sneering at good Old money, which is nothing short of providential.
