The Death Chant of the Leftist Theyhood

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.

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