Another Submission to the Sage Song Contest, from George Parkanyi
Because I buy and hold, I am a sage I’m told
But no one showed me how to sell, now I am old
Try as I might, I just can’t get it right
I can’t sell, can’t you tell? It’s my hell.
On Berkshire Hathaway, I did the math that day
Looked pretty good, bought, as I should, I had a play.
But where’s the thrill? In a crumbling textile mill?
I can’t sell, can’t you tell? It’s my hell.
And then the thing just grew, T-shirts and tanks - who knew?
Parlayed into Coke and news – insurance too!
Got out of hand; this I had never planned.
I can’t sell, can’t you tell? It’s my hell.
They told me make it split, but when I thought of it,
That might only reproduce this piece of _____
So the price just swelled – somehow as though compelled.
I can’t sell, can’t you tell? It’s my hell.
Then Munger and I clicked, thought that might do the trick
I’d bounce ideas off him and he’d say I’m a dick.
On his advice, the share price tripled – twice.
I can’t sell, can’t you tell? It’s my hell.
OK now this is nuts, who out there has the guts?
To kill this psycho thing from Massachussetts.
Need a plan unfurled, before it eats the world.
I can’t sell, can’t you tell? It’s my hell.
I can’t sell, can’t you tell? It’s my hell. (Help meeeee)
I can’t sell, can’t you tell? It’s my hell.