The country once prospered now it is torn
Prospects are dim for recently born
Elite are content, the poor are forlorn
All by debauched policy
The dying old folks on the wayward trapeze
Slip through safety net with greatest of ease
With spent hearts, bad hips and arthritic knees
‘T is such a sad sight to see
Fat cats and bureaucrats play a sweet song
The aged fall in line and whistle along
They’ve nothing to offer but a voting throng
Victims of adroit sophistry
For their country our seniors have worked and they’ve bled
Still dreaming of youth from stained and strained beds
The rapacious will celebrate when they are dead
Their mantra “less taxes for me”
Soooo…The dying old folks on the wayward trapeze
Cast old clouded eyes to a place called D.C.
They’ll soon realize the true meaning of “free”
And find rest ‘neath old shady trees
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