(Verse 1 – The Trap of Holding Flat) Flip a coin on a wild ride, watch the market sway, It doubles up on Monday, then it crashes the next day. Start with one hundred dollars, see it jump up to two, Then it cuts right in half—now what happened to you? Two times a half leaves you flat on the floor, You’re sitting right back where you started before. Zero net drift, just a cycle of pain, Hold it alone and there’s nothing to gain. (Chorus) That’s Shannon’s Demon dancing in the trade, Turning wild noise into money made! Split it in the middle, fifty-fifty on the line, Trim the soaring branch and let the balance align. You don’t need a forecast, you don’t need a guess, Just mechanical order in the middle of a mess. (Verse 2 – The Mechanics of the Split) Split the pot: fifty cash, fifty riding the wave, A hundred in total, half exposed and half saved. Now the asset takes off! Up a hundred percent! Your fifty hits a hundred—look at how the curve bent. With the fifty in cash, you are up to one-five-oh, Don't get greedy, don't just sit and watch it grow. Cut the profit off the top, slide twenty-five away: Seventy-five in stock, seventy-five stored away. (Chorus) That’s Shannon’s Demon dancing in the trade, Turning wild noise into money made! Split it in the middle, fifty-fifty on the line, Trim the soaring branch and let the balance align. You don’t need a forecast, you don’t need a guess, Just mechanical order in the middle of a mess. (Bridge – The Crash and the Harvest) Then comes the hammer, the dreaded drop by half, A fifty-percent wipeout that makes the cynics laugh. Your seventy-five in stock sinks to thirty-seven-fifty, While the seventy-five in cash sits quietly and thrifty. Add the two together: one hundred twelve and change! Twelve and a half percent out of zero net range! The coin stayed dead even, but your stack climbed high, By forcing the rule: sell the peak, buy the die. (Outro) Cash in the bunker, sail in the breeze, Pumping up returns from the volatility seas. No crystal balls, no timing to hone— Just rebalance the line, And let the Demon make it grow. Fifty-fifty... trim the top... buy the low...
