Now kenny is in the board room
Georgie B. is on the line
The small hand is pointing southward
The big one is on the nine
All shares have been divided
Each man a worthy hire
And the sheeple punch the time-clock
That guages their desire
The homeless wake on mainstreet
As the wealthy all just stare
And the "LAMBS" up in the towers
Are obliviously unaware
Donald plagues his eastern victims
Who wait with baited breaths
While the ticker-tape on wall street
Somehow justifies their deaths
Dickie is counting the barrels
Justice he blatently mocks
And my son is coming home now to see me
Tucked away forever neatly, inside his flag-draped box.
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