Scrooge reformed kept Christmas well, of this we have been told.
He carved a splendid turkey and was open with his gold.
No beggar from his door was turned, no reveler reviled;
The iron winter evenings at his home were all beguiled
With festive songs and dancing and a bowl of red ripe punch.
At work he gave Bob Cratchit leave to dawdle over lunch.
Old Scrooge was now a merry soul; his bank in London town
Reflected his munificence and loaned, with nothing down.
His miser's heart was dead and gone, and generosity
Made him want to share his wealth with all the bourgeoisie.
They flooded in to float a loan for homes and boats and carts;
For brewer's yeast and all the latest maritime sea charts.
'Collateral' was not a word that Scrooge let pass his lips;
He treated all his customers to plates of fish and chips.
Soon other banks were taking heed and followed where he led;
They somehow thought it was all right when all their ink ran red.
And for a while it seemed that finance would turn topsy-turvy;
Cuz no one said bad credit was akin to rabid scurvy.
Finally the bubble burst and stocks and bonds deflated
And pension plans were swooning like they had been quite sedated.
Foreclosures blossomed like the rust on shut-up factories
And people wound up living in old boxes under trees.
A scapegoat was demanded and old Scrooge was still at hand;
The government decided he had had the whole thing planned.
Like the name of Ponzi, 'Scrooge' became a deep offense
And everyone did blame him for the loss of pound and pence.
He had to go to Downing Street and beg to be acquitted.
The Cabinet to New South Wales had him quick remitted.
Now Scrooge amidst the dingoes celebrates on Christmas Day.
He carves a roasted platypus for those at his soiree.
Thus we see how goodness can bring on deep complications
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