The winter was freezing in year twenty-fifteen,
And we grew impatient for the spring, and its green.
Would times be better for each one of us renters,
Out-of-work home owners and non-one-percenters?
Our plastic maxed out, and nearly hysterical,
We needed money, and hoped for a miracle,
We'd stolen from Peter, as we tried to pay Paul;
With most bills overdue, we could not pay them all.
Last Christmas, fewer presents lay under the tree,
We'd bought for the children, but not you, and not me.
At night, we turned the thermostat setting to low,
With the oil tank near empty, the heat came up slow.
We'd spent every penny of our last jobless checks,
And stayed home all the time, in debt up to our necks,
But we hoped, as we shivered together in bed,
That things would get better, like our government said.
As I yawned, and began drifting off into sleep,
I heard a horn outside that had started to beep.
I opened the window, and beheld a Rolls-Royce;
It was silver and shiny, some wealthy man's choice.
The driver at the wheel of the custom-built car,
Well-fed and jolly, was puffing on a Cuban cigar.
He was dressed to the nines, in a fancy blue suit,
I could tell from his Rolex, he had lots of loot.
And sitting right near him on the passenger's side,
Was a gorgeous young blonde, just along for the ride.
He smiled as he saw me, and broke into a speech,
With cliches on hard work, bromides rich people preach.
"If you want to succeed, be like me, and work hard,
Or lazy, like losers who take care of my yard.
If you tax rich people more, you'll hurt all of us;
The jobs will trickle down, so cut out all your fuss!"
"Now, I have to go," he said, revving his engine.
I hope you're with me, wealth and power are no sin.
I'm off to the airport, so my new jet can fly;
It's Tahiti this weekend! Good luck, and goodbye."