A Wunch Of Bankers - Poem by Flying Lemming
I fail to see,
Why your blaming me,
For your misery,
When I want your happiness, and that is true.
Of course I stashed,
A load of cash,
When the market crashed,
But that's just what I'm expected to do.
I may be faceless,
But saying I'm graceless,
Is really quite tasteless,
I just have a totally unexpected view.
In my clean pressed suit,
I'm the banks recruit,
Who you'd like to shoot,
I give out loans, well maybe one or two.
I'll never budge,
Through forms I trudge,
And I like to judge,
I'll grind up your dreams until your blue.
But in the end,
You can depend,
On me as a friend,
Unless you’re poor in which case bugger you.
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