He may rejoice and be content
Who does not know these men.
They borrow gold at five per cent
And lend it out at ten.
They're never shocked by what they see.
Their heart is never still.
Their product is discrepancy
(Interpret as you will.)
Their appetite is fathoms deep.
They feed and dominate.
They never sow, they only reap
And let their gold gestate.
Sorcerers in human form
They charm from empty hands.
They make their fortunes on the phone
And petrol from the sands.
Whether gold is scarce or sure
They still make what they need
And slit the throats of others; for
The paper makes them bleed.
They swear by the rule of three
So have no need to pray.
For God they have some sympathy
Though they love gold more easily.
(But they all go bust one day.)
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