1949 Poem - Ode To The Welfare State:
'via Blog this'
Father, must I go to work?
No, my lucky son.
We’re living on easy street
On dough from
Washington.
We’ve left it up to Uncle Sam,
So don’t get
exercised.
Nobody has to give a damn –
We’ve all been
SUBSIDIZED!
But if Sam treats us all so well
And feeds us milk
and honey,
Please, daddy tell me what the hell
He’s going to use
for money?
Don’t worry, bub, there’s not a hitch
In this noble plan –
He’s simply soaks the filthy rich
And helps the
common man.
But, farther, wont there come a time
When they run out
of cash
And we have left them not a dime
When things will go
to smash?
My faith in you is shrinking, son,
You nosy little
brat;
You do too much thinking, son,
To be a Democrat.
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