You'D Better Not Mess With the I.R.S.

I got a letter in the mornin’ mail. It said “We’re gonna get you. You will go to jail.” It said “We’ve got some questions on you tax return. It’s people just like you that never seem to learn.” “We know you’re earning money that we just can’t see. Yet ev’ry other year you’re pleadin’ bankruptcy. We got you in the middle of a big-time lie. Your ex-wife, she has promised she will testify. I called up my attorney but he wasn’t there. They said he’d flown to Mexico, but who knows where? He’s just been audited for filing five years late, And claiming business dinners he ain’t never ate. And then I called my congressman, but he said “No. I’d love to help you son, but I’ve just got to go. I just received a letter from the I.R.S. My secretary’s telling them my business. So I picked up my papers and I went on in, I got down on my knees and then I said, “You win.” They told me they were sorry, but it’s their mistake. I pinched myself to see if I was still awake. They said that their computer got my last name wrong. They said I had a refund comin’ all along. I said, “Well thank you folks. I’ll see you next year.” And then I went and hid myself behind a beer. You’d better not mess with the I.R.S. Or you’ll be messing with your happiness. 1979