The following was originally printed in 1949, but as you see the more things change the more they stay the same.
Father must I go to work?
No my son we’re living on Easy Street
On the 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
Feeds us milk and honey,
Please, Daddy, tell me what the hell
He’s going to use for money?
Don’t worry, bub there not a hitch
In this here noble plan,
He simply soaks the filthy rich
And helps the common man.
But father, there come a time
When they run out of cash
And we’ve 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 damn much thinking, son
To be a Democrat.
