THE PUTZ AND THE PAUPER
Oh deary me – this is no joke;
How do I handle homeless folk?
They live in boxes under bridges,
Eat spoiled food thrown out from fridges.
The only wheels that they have gots
Is shopping carts from parking lots.
Their teeth are crooked, dripping algae;
Lonely brutes, without nostalgy.
Their French is bad, their Latin's worse;
They keep used Kleenex in their purse.
How I wish I had a buck
For each one who will claim bad luck!
Wearing clothes just ripe with vermin,
Never fans of Alan Sherman.
Often vets of different wars;
Ranting like psychotic bores.
Prone to petty theft I'm sure.
Drinking until life's a blur.
Unemployed and uninsured;
Sprinkled with their eau de merde.
There but for the grace of George
Would I go without my porridge.
Oh deary me – this is no treat.
When rates are low and credit's sweet
I ca afford to be blasé
About these vagabonds who stray.
But credit's tight, the Fed Reserve
Has all but nearly lost its nerve.
I fear my money in the bank
Has disappeared like young Anne Frank.
And mortgage payments have ballooned
While my career has Brigadooned.
My lifestyle I must rearrange
Or I'll be begging for spare change.
So starting from today on in
I'll treat my credit cards like sin;
Keep them hid and only use
When I feel like self-abuse.
Dining out won't be so common.
I'll dine in on Noodles Ramen.
Charities must feel the pinch;
They ask a mile, I'll give an inch.
Shut off my cell and use pay phones;
Boy, I'll miss those neat ring tones!
Recession times are only nectar
To the busy bill collector.
One is at my door – aw shucks!
I'll finish this down at Starbucks.
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