Leaders of the planet:
Eaters of Golden
Filigree accented treats.
(They ask)
“Who the hell needs to eat?
We could all stand to lose… a couple L Bs.”
With the butternut creme
Dripping off their lips
They dig in deep,
Lick their finger tips.
Stuff their face,
With that plateful of cake.
While we,
Drop to our knees and beg.
It’s strange,
To hear it from the one percent.
How we,
Should be happy with this precedent.
How we,
Should cut them all a little slack.
For we are the ones who will benefit.
Yo Chief!
You gone and broke the government,
More Cheese,
For you and all your relatives.
No relief,
No sympathy from psychopaths.
Your reprieve:
“My club has got a restaurant.”
