Tax Poem
I have not done a rant about taxes lately, so to spare my friends I decided to post this poem.
The Tax Poem
Tax his land,
Tax his bed,
Tax the table
At which he’s fed.
Tax his tractor,
Tax his mule,
Teach him taxes
Are the rule.
Tax his work,
Tax his pay,
He works for peanuts
Anyway!
Tax his cow,
Tax his goat,
Tax his pants,
Tax his coat.
Tax his ties,
Tax his shirt,
Tax his work,
Tax his dirt.
Tax his tobacco,
Tax his drink,
Tax him if he
Tries to think.
Tax his cigars,
Tax his beers,
If he cries
Tax his tears.
Tax his car,
Tax his gas,
Find other ways
To tax his ass.
Tax all he has
Then let him know
That you won’t be done
Till he has no dough.
When he screams and hollers,
Then tax him some more,
Tax him till
He’s good and sore.
Then tax his coffin,
Tax his grave,
Tax the sod in
Which he’s laid.
Put these words
Upon his tomb,
“Taxes drove me to my doom….”
When he’s gone,
Do not relax,
Its time to apply
The inheritance tax.
16. March 2009 at 12:52 pm :
Been working you your taxes, eh?
17. March 2009 at 4:51 pm :
And you forgot to say
Once his money’s all away
give it to those with no pay
Give it to those who can’t work
So they can eat,live and also shurk
Give his money to all the ones
Who can’t, won’t and their sons
Pay their bills and fund the masses
All they can do is sit on their asses.
If he complains then that’s too bad
The plight of others is too sad.
It’s his responsibility to fund
the lives of many, of everyone.
They shouldn’t have to fend for their meat
buy their houses or pay for treats.
He has to pay and pay and pay
And he has no voice, and no say
He has to fund all those fees
and just shut up if you don’t agree
He can fund the massive sinful fads
If he doesn’t like it…
Well that’s just too bad.