Tax time again, so get ready to pay up.

After careful thought,
I's know I's been sold and bought.
But now I's fwee to roam,
as long as my tax money hits the IRS home.
The United States Mint that is,
ever year it leaves my pockets
it almost drives me to tears.
I's still not use to paying up after all the years.

Works my azz off ever day,
fo hardly no freaking pay.
I's guess it has to bees dis way,
what more can a fwee man say.
It's hard to fights the IRS,
Lord knows I's can hardly dress.
Must less afford to eat,
ever day I's don't have no meat.
Here's the deal,
all I's can affiord is oatmeal.

Living in America, home of the brave,
keeper of the slave.
I's now a fwee man that cans save.
But there's nothing left,
hardly no food on the shelf.
Uncle Sam puts me on your IRS  docket,
there's nothing but lint left in my pocket.
I's live in a shack,
I's don't even have a light socket.
And if you wants pwoof,
just peep downs through my holey woof.

Good Old America, I's just love you!

OnepoetGem