A poem for bankers
by Instant Noodle
WHO puts my money in his till,
And when in difficulties will
Employ it to take up a Bill? My Banker.
Who cuts a very pretty dash,
By spending other people’s cash,
And ends with a tremendous smash ? My Banker.
Who has a pleasant country seat,
With park and grounds and all complete,
And is a thorough going cheat? My Banker.
Who goes to church and says his prayers
And gives himself religious airs,
And pawns my bonds, and sells my shares ? My Banker.
Who when convinced the house must go
Hints to a friend to let him know,
‘Tis well to keep his balance low; My Banker.
Who lives in most recherche style.
And wears the very blandest smile,
Though he’s insolvent all the while ? My Banker.
Who my a lesson yet be taught,
And find himself some morning brought
Before the Central Criminal Court ? My Banker.
Has there ever been a period of time where people didn’t hate bankers?
(June 1867; in the thick of a major financial crisis triggered by the collapse of Gurneys, a major London bank)