'Twas The Night After The Bailout
'Twas the night before Christmas, in Senate and House,
Not a CEO was stirring, although they be louse;
The billions were hung by the handouts with care,
In hopes that Saint Barack soon would be there;
The Chairmen were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of tax money danced in their heads;
And although near zero was their market cap,
That didn't dissuade them from shoveling crap.
On the White House lawn there arose such a clatter,
Rick and Bob feeding at the trough, always getting fatter.
Away to the bailout they flew like a flash,
Tore open the bank sacks and grabbed all the cash.
The Head of GM and his good Chrysler bro,
Sucked up giant truckloads of taxpayers' dough.
While the future of Main Street looked quite austere,
Motor City Scammers let out a Bronx cheer.
They were back in the driver's seat, lively and slick,
While Joe Citizen got the short end of the stick.
In quick rapidfire their excuses came,
Detroit should be part of the big bailout game;
"Now, Citibank! now, AIG! now, Fannie and Freddie!
They got loads of TARP cash, so cough it up, already!
From seven hundred billion, seventeen is quite small,
Which we'll cash away, cash away, cash away all!"
As unsold cars before the wild hurricane fly,
When they can't be financed, losses mount to the sky;
So up to White House-top the Chairmen they flew,
To collect the big check and the public to screw.
And then, if we really needed any more proof,
That this wasn't a real need, it was just a spoof,
No, the billions were not going to cause a rebound,
The whole lousy deal was only meant to confound.
When they squeezed Bush for all the available loot,
They turned north and went begging oot and aboot;
Hat in hand to Harper they went on the attack,
And of Canuck bucks they got another huge whack.
Their eyes, how they twinkled! Their pockets, how merry!
And they smiled as the taxpayer they happily buried.
They gave not a damn that they caused widespread woe,
It was Christmas, just let the bastards Owe, Owe, Owe!
The stub of the check Rick held tight in his teeth,
As he pushed the taxpayers' heads underneath.
His big broad face and his ugly round belly,
That made him look like Mr. Munster on the telly,
For he was Rick Wagoner, the CEO himself,
Who left any shame that he'd had on the shelf.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
And millions of taxpayers were going to be bled;
He spoke not a word, but looked up with a smirk,
And filled his Swiss accounts; that rotten old jerk,
Giving us the finger aside of his nose,
He gave a broad nod to his fellow CEOs,
He sprang to his Hummer, to his team gave a whistle,
And f***ed all America with his cash-seeking missile,
But I heard him exclaim, and in no way contrite,
"Happy Christmas to me, as for you, you can bite!"