Nine Years after Nineteen Ninety,
I was told with brevity,
About the “Dot Com” possibility.
The papers, the news everywhere I went,
Whoever I met was so bloody confidant,
About Mr.Com’s inevitable ability,
In making me as rich as nobility

IPO’s were the tune of the times,
Millions they said you could make with a dime,
My broker became increasingly friendly,
Called me up on my cell one fine day to say “hi buddy”
And “casually” quoted the price of INFY and SIFY,
Said I’d be a fool if I’d not invest in these,
Quoted some shit from some business dailies

Yeah he had me big time,
Played me like a nursery rhyme,
If I could catch that broker of mine,
I’d strangle his throat that bloody old swine.

Then the Bubble burst,
I lost Rs 50,000 first,
The God Damn Dot Com,
Next time someone mentions it,
Go tell him to **** his ***.