Mister Dow Jones plays FTSE with Nasdaq
said it once, debit lunch, credit crunch
snaps at the hotspurred heels of the Texan idiot,
president illegitimate, resident illiterate
reassuring as he bites his sound:
‘There is no slowdown.’ Oh, really?
Not going to Motown then, George, to see
a Detroit slump, feel a stagflation bump,
foodprice hikes, oilprice spikes?
As the demon dollar skydives
fat neo-con handjives won’t save the trophy wives
by their Hockney pools where the pizzaboy drools
and the suntan rules, cos the smart money’s gone,
solid gone post-Enron
and the tenants of Malibu, Dana and Marylou,
wait in the downsize queue
while you, George, sharp
as wrinkled linen trousers, parp
and gloop in the quicksand of
your final hours, your towers burned,
nothing learned from Najaf to New Orleans,
from Kyoto to Gitmo,
from Nero to Zero.