Life once meant something
You could later show your kids
So they could be proud of you
And all the good you did,
So they could grow and learn
And pass along the same way
When it came their turn to teach
Their children some fine day.

We learned to play with others
In back yards with few fences
And we laughed with immigrants
Like Borge and Señor Wences.
We stayed outside and played
With the kids of our neighbors.
Mom stayed home, Dad worked
And we profited from his labors.

We still had pride of who we were
And what we did during the war.
We knew what peace and freedom
And the Constitution were for.
Our country was the role model
For democracy doing it’s job
And we never thought our country
Would stoop at a chance to rob.

We were told if we worked hard
We could expect to do very well.
Never once was it hinted to us
That we would drop into a living hell.
We trusted that our leaders would
Continue to have our collective back.
But that was before those elected went
So egregiously far off the track.

It’s hard to remember this now,
Back then a forty hour situation
Was all it took to make our way
In our proud and righteous nation.
Now both parents must work at
Maybe two jobs each every day
In order for the family to succeed
Not like our parents used to say.

I used to be an avid libertarian
Now I am a vocal egalitarian.
I see that Republicans are
Rehearsing to acclaim a Tsar,
Contemptuous of anything agrarian.

My peers are equally divided bubbleheads
Half of their brain cells completely dead.
Their parents taught them so little
That they are caught in the middle
They believe each word their crazy leader said.

The USA is not a pure democracy,
The only thing pure here is hypocrisy.
Voters sit on their hands
And applaud the brass bands
Saying, ”What else can anybody ask of me!”

My peers are equally divided bubbleheads
Half of their brain cells completely dead.
Their parents taught them so little
That they are caught in the middle
They believe each word their crazy leader said.

The USA is not a pure democracy,
The only thing pure here is hypocrisy.
Voters sit on their hands
And applaud the brass bands
Saying, ”What else can be asked of me!”

My peers are **** near useless bubbleheads.
On voting day, three quarters stayed in bed.
They play a dumb political game
Saying both sides are the same
And let our country drown in the watershed.

Some rail and rightly blame the establishment
As if they understood what that really meant;
They know the country’s out of hand
But somehow they don’t understand
The folks they voted in are to our detriment.

My peers are equally divided bubbleheads
Half of their brain cells completely dead.
Their parents taught them so little
That they are caught in the middle
They believe each word their crazy leader said.

The pieces of my heart,
weigh me down
and cut me,
Yet,
I ache from the lies you spun
and the time I spent with you.

The next time we meet,
you won't have teeth.

I am glad of who I am.
I celebrate my difference
From those who scam
And lie, without diffidence,
Meanwhile, they are godless
And worship Mammon
In the name of holiness;
A practice that is common.

Their sleepless nights
And bingeing on Mylanta
Belies their image of Santa;
Their self-created fantasy
Of being job creators
When the money they create
They keep, and put away
Into offshore banking states.

With no basis for pride.
They can’t celebrate
About what they are,
They can only prevaricate;
Hire companies to help them
To look us in our eye,
Smile in thousand dollar hairdos
And capped teeth then lie.

Not I. My armor is truth,
Saying what and who I am
And letting others know
Their postures are flim-flam!
And as long as they make money
Nothing is commendable but wealth;
They joyfully create a culture
Where there is pride in stealth.

Hyperbole in front of me,
Political effrontery,
Lies dressed up as Scripture,
Treason beyond conjecture.
No hope of restitution
A gutted constitution
Guarded by mercenaries
Who hate blacks and fairies.

A pain to liberal brains
As hope goes down the drain
While major constituencies
Are sold out for SUVs.
Journalists lost their relevance
Kissing the haunches of elephants
In a mad rush every news day
To keep their beloved pay.

Chip-off-the-block jabberwocky;
Son talks his Daddy’s talky.
With no attempt at recompense
The fool makes little sense,
Hiding behind the leverage
He gets from his evil heritage.
There’s no need of morality
Or decency or much formality.

No matter how much criticized,
The wrongly, constantly victimized
Suffer the ignominy yearly
And continue to pay dearly
From our position down on our knees
As they try to rob everyone they see
And we are the casualties of infamy
Because neighbors stand by silently.