I’m Always True to You, In My Fashion

By Rod Fitzsimmons Frey (To the tune of Cole Porter’s “I’m Always True to You, In My Fashion“)

If my screen shows its a buy,
Or it just catches my eye
As oft as not, the thing gets bought that day!

But I’m always true to you, Galt’n, in my fashion
Yes, I’m always true to you, Galt’n, in my way.

I’ve a dear but clueless friend
Likes to hop aboard a trend,
As my friend gets rich, I watch my finger twitch — it’s judgement day!

But I’m always true to you, Galt’n, in my fashion
Yes, I’m always true to you, Galt’n, in my way.

There’s a list of plutocrats
Who like to give some diamonds back
I must concentrate, but that sell looks great — and now I pay!

But I’m always true to you, Galt’n, in my fashion
Yes, I’m always true to you, Galt’n, in my way.

Some that sell their market dross
Counting makes them mad and cross
When their math shows cracks, there’s always Amazon hacks — One star, they say!

Still I’m always true to you, Galt’n, in my fashion
Yes, I’m always true to you, Galt’n, in my way.

I can count the S&P
And the bumps of corn and beans
And if oil’s a bore, and the west’s a chore — Nikkei!

But I’m always true to you, Galt’n, in my fashion
Yes, I’m always true to you, Galt’n, in my way.

We all love to count and sum
And I trust those meals will come
And when the meals roll in, I’ll thank you, Galton — Hurray!

‘Cause I’m always true to you, Galt’n, in my fashion
Yes, I’m always true to you, Galt’n, in my way.

Linear Filters

by Dr. Kim Zussman

If I had a Wiener
I’d filter in the morning
I’d filter in the evening
All over this land
I’d filter out zygotes
I’d filter out virons
I’d filter out love between the brothers and brothers
All over San Francisco

If I had a bell
I’d ring it at the Nasdaq
I’d ring it at the NYSE
All over this land
I’d wring out declines
I’d ring out vol spikes
I’d ring out love between my brokers and my traders
All over this land

If I were short
I’d sell it in the morning
I’d sell it in the evening
All over this land
I’d sell out danger
I’d sell global warming
I’d sell out love between Bernanke and Maria
All over C-SPAN

Kount Like a Korean

by Dr Kim Zussman

All the old chartings on the tombs
They do the sand dance don’t you know
If they move too slow (oh whey oh)
They’re falling down like dominos

All the bazaar men by the Pit
They got their money on a bet
Gold crocodiles slip on the crude (oh whey oh)
They snap their teeth your margin’s hit

Foreign types with hookah pipes say
Ay oh whey oh, light and sweet ohh
Kount like a Korean

The blonde mistresses take their tips
They spin across the trading floor
They’ve got the moves (oh whey oh)
You drop your stake and they take more

All the B-school kids are tricked by books
Mistaking Paradigm for Pair o’ dice
When the bell rings (oh whey oh)
They kount like Koreans

All the kids in the marketplace say
Ay oh whey oh, Oy, oy veh-oh
Kount like a Korean

Slide your position through the $treet and hunch your back
Offer just a bit and then you pull it back
Alpha is hard to get you know (you don’t say, oh?)

So strike a pose with a big finance rag
If you want to find all the tops
The Wiz is at the donut shop
They sing and dance (oh whey oh)

Spin the wheel lay on the trade
All the Japanese with all their yen
The party boys now stiff the Krem-a-lin
And the Chinese know just how the wind does blow (oh whey oh) They take the bait just like Koreans

All the flops at the quant shop say
Delta thet-oh, gamma vegg-oh
Kount like a Korean
Kount like a Korean

Old-Hearted Men

(to the tune of “Stouthearted Men” from “The New Moon”; music by Sigmund Romberg, original lyrics by Frank Mandel and Oscar Hammerstein)

Spare me from men
Who are old-hearted men
Who’ve been short ever since ’82.
Who always call
For the market to fall
Who have always the same point of view
Shorting the dollar,
They don’t like the dollar,
They don’t like the market at all!

Spare me from old men
Who don’t like high vol or low vol
Cynical old men,
Who don’t like
Anything at all.

Spare me from men who like
P/Es of 10
And a price less than two-thirds of book
Men who can’t find value fair anywhere
In the market wherever they look

Nothing for sale in the market appeals
When the trade deficit is so wide
Everything is wrong,
And never’s the time to go long
Say old-hearted men
Who sing the old old-hearted song.