Sting the powerless
For they have no fear
Sooth the rich
For they have everything
The poor is poor
have no feelings
Feed the poor
Because they have nothing
Slap the middle class
With a go-get em-team!
Win one for the little guy
Not the homeless one
Or the dying masses of this world
You'll never win one for them,
We know
You wanna win one
For the little sick boy
With his cap on too loose
His body pale and sickly
But not too sickly,
this boy can't be depressing
Do this next one for him
Sick in the hospital
But not too sick
With his skinny arms
But not too skinny
Held feebly on his fingers
Each adornment
Oversize hand
Baseball cap
And blanket
Adorned with the team he so honors
Your team
Do it for him as he watches on his tiny tv
The hospital couldn't afford to get a bigger one
You're the only hope
Middle class team
To slam the next one out of the park
Just for little Timmy
Paint on the artists
So they will know how a canvas must feel
Make a chef use his blood as an ingredient
So the guests will understand
what blood sweat and tears really means
Strip the model
So they can be in their natural environment
And for once get to be in that artistic piece
Clothe the fat
For the simple joy of watching their style
Steal from the rich
They have too much anyway
Give to the people
So they may each enjoy the 95 cents
The evenly got, Equally through the rest of the poor
Eat the rich
So we can all be a part of their extravagance and happiness
Drive the cars hard
As they are meant to be driven
Then take good care of then
Because they did so well
Begin treating the car as am Egyptian cat
The cars will then be allowed to be cars
Paint a cat
And shave a dog
They would look silly
Use feet for something different
They must get bored
Doing the same routine every day
Sort of a tease
Why can't thy just b the hands
The hand must seem to be such a dream to the foot
He is so cocky because of those things called thumbs
So elegant thinks the foot in his sarcastic way
Peeking some gum off himself
The knees don't really care
they know hey have essentially one purpose:
Work
The elbows have the same feelings as the knees
The back sees a lot and feels very important
The hair is a bunch of yelling party animals
No two days are the same
And they constantly need to be tamed
And boy can they get dirty
What with all that partying up there
On cranium mountain
The brain thinks,
It has no use for this conversation
The rest of the body is alway warm
Always doing something
Always surrounded by a gaggle
Of other organs and cells
They are never with bore
Or without something useful to pass on
Those damned travelers
Thinks the feet
Only two
Very separated
Always walked one
For them
Hands must be a dream