By George, It's the Same Old Story

The American Revolution describes the process whereby one George was replaced by another Though Jack has climbed his beanstalk, Saint George his dragon slain, Gulch-Mammon lives on happily And myriad is his train His belly is enormous, Yet full it ne'er will be. The moment luncheon's over, It's time to start high-tea. Gulch-Mammon's teeth are millstones Whose grindings rarely cease. His slightest indigestion Is menace to our peace. And every time he sneezes, Things worsen, though they're bad, And every time he belches, The Richter Scale goes mad. Perchance he bored with eating, He starts to smoke and fume. You'll always know his whereabouts. Just watch out for his plume. His home is just palatial, For gold is everywhere. His rest-room seat is golden, A thing most choice and rare. No one knows for certain, The income that he draws. Whatever you are making, It's vastly more than yours. There on his vast plantations, Some kine are thin, some fat, And many laws and statutes Did little to change that. Are Jack and George just sleeping, Or are they in his pay? Whoso may know the answer Seems disinclined to say.