Category / Poetry

@twitmericks March 1, 2012 at 1:24 pm

There once was a very old horse
Who after some years in the force
Was lent to Ms Brooks
Who had cops on the books
A fact unrelated of course

(Yes it is terrible. Rebekah Brooks deserves no better.)

One Night In New York October 23, 2008 at 12:40 pm

In my defense, I was on a train and running out of reading matter. So another lyric rewrite happened.

New York, occidental setting
And the city don’t know that the city is getting
The creme de la creme of the bank world
In a show with everything but Alan Greenspan
Time flies, doesn’t seem a minute
Since the Tirolean spa had the bank boys in it
All change, don’t you know
That when you play at this level there’s no ordinary venue
It’s Davos or Hong Kong or Tokyo or London
Or, or this place

One night in New York and the world’s your oyster
The banks are temples but the stock ain’t free
You’ll find a God in every golden billion
And if you’re lucky then the God’s a she
I can feel the paper sliding up to me

One town’s very like another
When your head’s down over your Bloomberg, brother
(It’s a drag, it’s a bore, it’s really such a pity)
(To be looking at the screen, not looking at the city)
What d’ya mean
You seen one crowded, polluted, stinking conference room
(Tea, men, warm and sweet, sweat)
(Some are set up in the Hank Paulson suite)
Get confirmed! You’re talking to a tourist
Whose every move’s among the purest
I get my kicks above the waistline, sunshine

One night in New York makes a hard man humble
Not much between despair and ecstasy
One night in New York and the tough guys tumble
Can’t be too careful with your company
I can feel the devil walking next to me

Wall Street’s gonna be the witness
To the ultimate test of cerebral fitness
This grips me more than would
A muddy old river or reviving vodka
Thank God I’m only watching the game, controlling it
I don’t see you guys rating
The kind of bond I’m contemplating
I’d let you watch, I would invite you
But the lawyers we use would not excite you
So you better go back to your bars, your jobs
Your SPVs

One night in New York and the world’s your oyster
The banks are temples but the stock ain’t free
You’ll find a God in every golden billion
A little flesh, a little history
I can feel the paper sliding up to me

One night in New York makes a hard man humble
Not much between despair and ecstasy
One night in New York and the tough guys tumble
Can’t be too careful with your company
I can feel the devil walking next to me

Any old bonds October 16, 2008 at 1:55 pm

Any old bonds? Any old bonds?
Any, any, any old bonds?
You look neat. Talk about a treat!
You look so dapper from your napper to your feet.
Dressed in style, brand-new tile,
And your father’s old repo on.
But I wouldn’t give you tuppence for your old MBS,
Old MBS, old MBS.

This is one in a series of bad lyric interventions. In this case, inspiration comes from the ECB.

I bought a bank – and I liked it. With apologies to Katy Perry September 20, 2008 at 6:38 am

This was never the way I planned
Not my intention
I got so brave, pen in hand
Lost my discretion
It’s not what, I’m used to
Just wanna try you on
I’m curious for you
Caught my attention

I bought a bank and I liked it
The size of her assets, her leverage
I bought a bank just to try it
I hope my regulator don’t mind it
It felt so wrong
It felt so right
Don’t mean I’m solvent tonight
I bought a bank and I liked it
I liked it

No, I don’t even know your NAV
It doesn’t matter,
You’re my experimental game
Just human nature,
It’s not what,
Good banks do
Not how they should behave
My board gets so confused
Hard to obey

I bought a bank and I liked it
The size of her assets, her leverage
I bought a bank just to try it
I hope my regulator don’t mind it
It felt so wrong
It felt so right
Don’t mean I’m solvent tonight
I bought a bank and I liked it
I liked it

Us banks we are so magical
Big desks, red ink, so cheap
Hard to resist seems so valuable
Too good to deny it
Ain’t no big deal, it’s innocent

I bought a bank and I liked it
The size of her assets, her leverage
I bought a bank just to try it
I hope my regulator don’t mind it
It felt so wrong
It felt so right
Don’t mean I’m solvent tonight
I bought a bank and I liked it
I liked it

Godot waits for the close. August 19, 2007 at 10:13 am

Vladimir: Subprime?

Estragon: Subprime.

Vladimir: Slime.

Estragon: Triple A.

Vladimir: Exposure?

Estragon: Exposed.

Vladimir: Leveraged.

Estragon: Leveraged and Funded.

Vladimir: Funded?

Estragon: Roll coming up.

Vladimir: Roll that CP.

Estragon: CP?

Vladimir: ABCP.

Estragon: The End.

(Inspired by Long or Short Capital.)

Rudyard Kipling on Multiculturalism February 12, 2007 at 9:36 pm

The Mother-Lodge

There was Rundle, Station Master,
An’ Beazeley of the Rail,
An’ ‘Ackman, Commissariat,
An’ Donkin’ o’ the Jail;
An’ Blake, Conductor-Sargent,
Our Master twice was ‘e,
With ‘im that kept the Europe-shop,
Old Framjee Eduljee.

Outside — “Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!”
Inside — “Brother”, an’ it doesn’t do no ‘arm.
We met upon the Level an’ we parted on the Square,
An’ I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there!

We’d Bola Nath, Accountant,
An’ Saul the Aden Jew,
An’ Din Mohammed, draughtsman
Of the Survey Office too;
There was Babu Chuckerbutty,
An’ Amir Singh the Sikh,
An’ Castro from the fittin’-sheds,
The Roman Catholick!

We ‘adn’t good regalia,
An’ our Lodge was old an’ bare,
But we knew the Ancient Landmarks,
An’ we kep’ ‘em to a hair;
An’ lookin’ on it backwards
It often strikes me thus,
There ain’t such things as infidels,
Excep’, per’aps, it’s us.

For monthly, after Labour,
We’d all sit down and smoke
(We dursn’t give no banquits,
Lest a Brother’s caste were broke),
An’ man on man got talkin’
Religion an’ the rest,
An’ every man comparin’
Of the God ‘e knew the best.

So man on man got talkin’,
An’ not a Brother stirred
Till mornin’ waked the parrots
An’ that dam’ brain-fever-bird;
We’d say ’twas ‘ighly curious,
An’ we’d all ride ‘ome to bed,
With Mo’ammed, God, an’ Shiva
Changin’ pickets in our ‘ead.

Full oft on Guv’ment service
This rovin’ foot ‘ath pressed,
An’ bore fraternal greetin’s
To the Lodges east an’ west,
Accordin’ as commanded
From Kohat to Singapore,
But I wish that I might see them
In my Mother-Lodge once more!

I wish that I might see them,
My Brethren black an’ brown,
With the trichies smellin’ pleasant
An’ the hog-darn passin’ down;
An’ the old khansamah snorin’
On the bottle-khana floor,
Like a Master in good standing
With my Mother-Lodge once more!

Outside — “Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!”
Inside — “Brother”, an’ it doesn’t do no ‘arm.
We met upon the Level an’ we parted on the Square,
An’ I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there!