They give off such creepy vibes|
Ninety-niners with no lives
Pitching tents, and slogans too.
All saying that you owe me -- YOU!
You whose surplus went toward bets
Where heads wins big, while tails upsets
Everyone but Mister Big,
Win or lose, you grab the vig.
Yes, you one percent are vile,
Joe Pesci in 'Casino' style,
While you owe nothing we've not earned,
You've unpaid debts to lenders spurned.
Our heritage in founding word
That confiscation is abhorred.
You caused due process to default
For others, but expect your vault
To be the only wealth exempt
From the consequence of your own contempt.
And to generations yet unborn
You spare not your cynic scorn,
Usufruct despoiled, our seed
Will not enjoy What sates that need
Which is your major manufacture
The darker demons of our nature.
Carte blanc for Veruca Salt.
You care nothing for John Galt.
The Marxist avarice and greed
Of each according to his need
Is no less wrong, nor more right
Than avarice and greed of might.
The lonely silent center cries
Not avarice, but enterprise
And fair transactions within ones means
Wise use, yet stewardship by greens
Men's value measured by their word
Let these cherished virtues be restored.
By Robert Corey
© 2011 Robert Corey
(All rights reserved)