Santa Supports the Military Industrial Complex
I sat by my window on a snowy Christmas eve.
Another day of downturns, of losses and red.
'Twas the season to be jolly, but all I had was woe.
When outside I heard, "Have you considered a TOW?"
A jolly red arms dealer was parked in an alley.
Stood opposite a group of revolutionary sorts.
Admiring the goods that the Fat Man had to share.
A Stinger, a Starstreak, for all needs anti-air.
With their desires fulfilled and arms overloaded.
The jolly man counted his cash as he climbed into his Puma.
I threw open the window, this moment had to be seized.
I cupped my hands, shouting, "Where do you get all of these?"
"From, Lockheed! from, Boeing! or Northrop and Harris!
By, Raytheon! by, Thales! through Airbus and Dynamics!"
I raced to my computer and placed all my orders.
As the jolly man told of the visits he was to make.
An RBS-70 for the Separatists, first on the list.
An ArmaLite for those Irish who were still pissed.
Then a trip to the Gulf to support a dictator.
Armoured carriers, old jets and even a warship.
He was treated to a festival, but had to give it the slip.
For his next stop was the rebels, a nice double-dip.
A pit stop in Africa, swatting flies while arming a SWAT team.
Fortune struck, as he found a ship under attack.
The tanker's security new guns left them feeling real chipper.
To the frustrated pirates he chuckled, "Now here, have a Skipper."
Round east he would travel to beef up some navies.
Some old LCM-8s, with Zippo modification.
For China he fulfilled every amphibious wish.
And to Taiwan the solution – a Stonefish.
Back to America to pick up some new stock.
A detour through Mexico, to enjoy all the sights.
To rest his weary legs in the finest of hotels.
And later a meeting with old friends – the cartels.
I watched my stocks rise as his aircraft took flight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good fight!"