Get Your Premium Membership


The internal department of the psychic friends,
Aggravation can find a dollar before it is printed,
Like Christmas tax day comes once a year,
It will take that long to pay one bill,
Ask Santa for it under the tree it will appear,
The parasite, the invalid, it can't help itself ,
It's eating away a the system,
You can't kill it, it's like bad grass,
It just sucks your blood and laughs,
The more you give it the more it wants,
They use your mind, your body, and your soul,
No matter how bad it hurts, it can hurt somemore,
Hand stretched out arms open wide,
It invites everyone to be on it's side,
It runs like water it's hard to hold,
It rund out of your pocket until there is no more,
Like maduca the seven headed moster with a sore,
It won't stop kicking until you are  is sore,
Men ain't free it's a IRS guarantee,
They can not stand the sun to shine,
They tell you what to think,
You can't fight City Hall because they put up a ten foot wall,
They can't hear, can't see, and won't speak no evil,
A crooked road where will this lead us,
To the deaths of the masses,
It spews hate it's the only thing that lasts,
Everything else is a worn out song,
"Follow the IRS you can't go wrong,
The IRS and it's sympathizers,
Go early to bed they are early risers,
Can't make love you can't go to war,
Not for a good reason or things worth fighting for,
Who's your daddy? What's your mama name,
Ask me no questions it's the end of the game,
Stand up sit down what should I do?
The IRS wants to get next to you,
They'll burn your house, they'll take your child,
Can't have it, ain't getting it,
I ain't got and I ain't gonna get.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2007

Post Comments
Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.