Gold is now a genuine scam,
It has its time,
it’s had its fans.
Now I want rhodium,
platinum and palladium,
Sealed with wax and buried below,
Remebering the time when roofs used to glow.
Golden caps,
and silver tops,
those things are common,
in our world of tea cups.
But in the world,
of disposible trash,
a bit of paper’ll do,
altho’ it’ll disolve in my laps.