T'was days before Christmas, when all through the land
The COMEX was selling paper metal, like it was Custer's last stand.
They sold silver and gold, they emptied Ft. Knox
Promoting eternal government fiat, paper gold, silver and stocks.
The U.S. Government issued their bonds, like a bunch of boozed-up drunk kids
When foreigners got wise to sham debt auctions, they put in their own bids!
Their auctions, inflation, the dollar - All... All Lies!
Who's buying silver and gold? - Why, none but the prudent, healthy and wise!
The savvy and wise buy gold to be able
To weather the perfect financial storm, Jim Puplava's unfolding fable.
So away with the COMEX and their silver and gold paper...
And their dubious strong dollar policy, a diabolical caper...
As they fleece the cash herd and their riches to keep
Thank God for Bill Murphy, keeping watch over the sheep!
With all the GATA army along with Chris Powell
Without whom investors would have been stripped naked - to but throw in the towel.
With Golden Comet's stockings all hung, on our fireplaces with care
[with hopes of St. Nick soon to be there!]
To be filled with trading knowledge, all gratis -- by non other than Mr. Jim Sinclair.
Others need to be mentioned, or I'll be called an Ole Grinch Meanie --
Turk, Bolser, Mogambo Guru, Taylor,
Noland, Ole Bear, Howe, Holt,
Bonner, Embry, Hepburn, Fitts, & Steer,
[gasp! - Ye Gads Gerome! Sounds like a Law Firm!]
On Landis, On Bugos, On Stratton, On Richebächer,
On Willie, On Morgan, On Palha, On Sanders,
On Krautkramer, On Pollock, On Hultberg, oh How I Meander,
least not to forget Houston's Dan Norcini!
[panting for breath, What an Army! To Make Greenie Squirm!]
In search of financial truths, this gang has conferred
At the Woodstock of sound money, heavy metal backing preferred,
The tunes that they do sing, don't impress the merciless CABAL Fable
As they still happily wear their contrarian's label...
With Central Bank's leasing and selling and swapping you know
With their quickly diminishing stocks their gold sales should soon slow,
So what ever you do, buy silver and gold while you still can...
Soon the only places to get it will be India, China and Japan.
With the way things are going with deficits and all,
It's only time before Greenspan and Snow Job their fat asset fiat do fall.
There's no better or holier than thou Almighty Ole Pools,
Like these Antiquated London Gold Fools!
With the pre-emptive strike rigging,
We can't count them reneging,
On Strike, On Put, on Call...
Gee, no one's too big to Fall.
The long and the tall,
The small and the hitting the wall
[at 150 Mile Per Hour!],
Could be nothing but fans shredding funny inked paper,
To one and all!
To Hob with Bob,
A Fob, for your folderol!
[Now Gee, isn't that sour?!]
When the Cat in the Hat, dressed in Red, Blue and White,
Comes Caterwauling to foray for a Fight,
Meow Mix Might Do's
For all of their SPOOs.
The dog barketh Bow Wow How?
The ghost of T'was Christmas Past... say Now!
With the banker, bullion bank, insider manipulator,
One does not have to be a FBI investigator,
To know that during N.Y. trading hours there's Midas' six dollar rule
In the CABAL's bag of price rigging dirty tricks,
It's their most oft used price fixing tool.
When all ladies and gentlemen, hoboes and tramps,
Figure out these nice little insider cabalish vamps,
We must not gripe as we aurically refine,
A stitch in one argent yardbird's stripe, probably saves nine.
When all this legal tender paper funny money blows up,
Not backed by sound specie, you see,
No one not even a young trader pup,
Will believe Ole Bear and me,
That one day in Certainty, Even if it takes an Eternity...
The rats will flee, some hobbling, some mauled as they are hauled,
Out of the trading room on their stretchers,
That could also include the Chancellors of the Exchequers?
Rob in his Pajamas and Ole Bear in is Lair,
We think it only fitting and Fair,
For the paper to burn all that the wheel barrels do carry,
My Maestro, My Maestro why so do you tarry?
Your stretcher is the last, but there's no room at the Inn...
Durst you not know
Monetary Punch Bowl Gin
Doth Make You Sin!
My Rob in Toronto, a sleeping a' pronto,
Dreaming Krug, Roo, Eagle and Leaf,
While I in MiZZouRah Cave Lair, breathe a sigh of relief,
That Maynard Keynes is very indubitably dead,
While great vats of honey golden money dance in my head.
Up over the roof in skies much over our heads,
Bernanke aloof has most fear to dread,
If money becomes honey golden,
His Fed Boss most likely be told 'im,
"Pal, Ben B, I don't have much Yuletide Glee,
For you, Sir, are out of a Job, You See?!!!!"
And as we all know,
Central Banks stand ready, Like Fannie and Freddy, in their afterglow,
To fleece and lease more and more gold, should the price rise......
Central Banker Sighs, Sighs, Sighs!
Central Banker Stand Ready,
Yeah, Ye Also, Fannie and Freddy!
Our rhyme has ended this Yuletide Season,
We can think of no other reason,
But to slumber toward our dreams of honey precious money...
Returning to sound money systems, just isn't funny.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
Hooooooo! Hooooooooo! Hoooooooooooo!
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