"You can go to church and sing a hymn
You can judge me by the color of my skin
You can live a lie until you die
One thing you can't hide
Is when you're crippled inside."
Man’s altruistic urge
Saved me (for we were poor, you know)
From the disease’s scourge,
So I grew up a strapping lad
That now am 73,
But don’t expect a Galahad
To do thee as done me.
If you are sick, I’ll give “tough love,”
The only kind I preach,
But push “healthcare” away above
Out from poor people’s reach—
For I got mine, a wealthy man
And can afford to pay,
Let poor folks do the best they can,
I won’t stand in their way.
Except by blocking access to
Doctors and medicine,
Compounding laws as to accrue
My balance—off their skin—
For poor folks labor and they earn
But do not get to keep,
While rich men profit, turn for turn,
And get things on the cheap.
I’ve even stacked the highest court
By such a silvery scab
To be relied to “hold the fort”
Whilst I my profits nab—
Yes, I who was a strapping lad
Claim all the good, but leave the bad
For others—ho ho ho!