
Oh, come one, come all, to the grand evening show,
Where fortunes are spun and the clueless will go!
The man in the suit, with a Cheshire-like grin,
Grabs hold of the rug—let the chaos begin!
The poor, wide-eyed, in their shabby domain,
Clutch at their dreams as they circle the drain.
“Invest!” cried the wealthy, “Your future looks bright!”
Then yanked out the rug in the dead of the night.
Their laughter erupts like a sinister tune,
As families go flying, their balance marooned.
“What fools!” say the rich, with a toast to the scam,
“We only take everything—because we can!”
Oh, the suits play the game with such delicate flair,
While the clueless just gasp, mid-air in despair.
For power loves profit, and profit loves fools,
And the rug pullers reign, breaking all the old rules.
So beware of the smile and the promises sweet,
Of the man in the suit who may sweep you off your feet.
For the rich tug the threads while the poor take the fall,
It’s the oldest of games—and they’ve mastered it all.