The Pushtun and the Gringo went to desert
On a beautiful poppy-red drone,
They took shrapnel, and plenty of powder,
Wrapped up in a five ton bomb.
The Pashtun looked to the stars above,
Singing, he aimed his mortar,
‘O lovely Gringo! O Gringo my love,
What a rounceval Gringo you are,
What a rounceval Gringo you are!’
Gringo said to the Pushtun, ‘You elegant biped!
How charmingly deadly your outburst!
O give me some oil! and the pretty poppies too!
But what shall we do for a house?’
They droned away, for a decade and a day,
To the rocks where the poppy grows
And there on a wall was Goldman-Sachs
With a loan at the end of his nose,
With a loan at the end of his nose.
‘Dear Gold, are you willing to sell for one dollar
Your ARM?’ Said the Goldie, ‘I will.’
So they bought, and were foreclosed next day
By the Congress who lives on the hill.
They dined on oil, and snorted poppy,
Over a hot runcible spoon, oh my Gott!
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They overdosed by the light of Herr Gott,
They overdosed by the light of Herr Gott.
<can you hear Edward Lear groans?>