Poetry

The Rich Man's Burden

You know the rich man created this world
The people, places, the trees, and the squirrels
The poor man came and made it a mess
Then went to cash his welfare check

He lies, he cheats, he steals, he sins
He beats his wife, he drinks his gin
Old money’s refined won’t fight or cuss
Those poor old bastards should be more like us

We built this whole world, and run it too
We deserve more for all that we do
We want money, land, the souls of the poor
If we can’t get that, what’d we build this world for?

If it weren’t for the rich man where would you be at?
Out naked, picking berries, shit like that
No job, no mortgage, no trips to the mall
Can you even call that living at all?

Atheist

My dear, sweet atheist, what have you done?
You used to be decent, you used to be fun
You’re smug and you’re pushy, you mock and you boast
But have you become what you hate the most?

You’re all for freethinking, down to your core
Until someone thinks they came from the Lord
If it sounds far-fetched, we’ll laugh and we’ll taunt
But other than that, believe what you want