Home, James

Home, James By Elton Camp The usual hallmark of the one percent Is that by chauffeured limo they went If Astor, Rockefeller or Vanderbilt You knew they were loaded to the hilt When they were ready to leave the scene They loaded into a waiting limousine “Home, James,” is what they would say It must be such fun to get to do that way Limos now are nicer with different name But those who ride in the back are the same They have more money than they can spend And only to other millionaires are they friend I just wonder how much income tax they pay Or if they get out of most of it by some way President Obama seems to think they do And, as far as I can know, it might be true