Dear Friends,
The little Dickens’ boy is asking for more,
So government feeds him ideas that soar,
Labor does try,
To sell the lie,
That the roof can support the floor.
I was once waiting patiently on an aircraft,
The guy next to me was getting quite rash,
Screaming with a frown,
The thing was broke down,
But I’d rather wait than get in a plane crash.
Winning is all that matters to,
Elitist progressives in their slew,
Ethics are for losers,
Winning is for choosers,
And so they’ll do whatever they have to do.
The elite look with disdain from above,
Old people are the font of culture’s love,
The culture must be changed,
So they work hard to arrange,
And that’s why the elderly must be got rid of.
You believed the man on the stool,
Giving him years of unlimited rule,
To those who voted Labor,
Now you’re out of favor,
They made you the manipulated tool.
Sincerely,
John Pepin
