Father must I go to work?
No, my lucky son.
We're living now on Easy Street
On dough from Washington.
We've left it up to Uncle Sam,
So don't get exercised.
Nobody has to give a damn---
We've all been subsidized.
But if Sam treats us all so well
And feeds us milk and honey,
Please, daddy, tell me what the Hell
He's going to do for money.
Don't worry, bub, there's not a hitch
In this their noble plan---
He simply soaks the filthy rich
And helps the Democrat man.
But father won't there come a time
When Sam runs out of cash.
And we have left them not one dime
So what then will they trash?
My faith in you is shrinking, son
You nosy little brat:
You do too damn much thinking, son
To be a Democrat!
So take your Uncle Sam's stolen cash
And never work a lick.
For tomorrow America will be trash,
And you will be a hick.
