THE TAXING TROLLS
Deep in caverns 'neath the earth the taxing trolls do dwell.
You cannot trace their handiwork by sight or sound or smell.
But when the dark of moon arrives and sable bats do gibber
The taxing trolls all must creep out to haunt the saint and fibber.
Their eyes glow red, their teeth are green. Their breath smells like a sewer.
Their skin is warts from stem to stern; they turn to stone the viewer.
So when we rise from our soft beds to seek some breakfast snacks
We find that overnight we're stuck with some new wicked tax.
It might be on our gasoline or cookies made with figs;
It might be on pink hula hoops or bowling balls or pigs.
But when we storm the marble halls of Congress for to cuss,
Our mealy representatives just stare and say: "Who, us?"
"We never laid a finger on your wallet – cross our souls.
It must have been those nasty grasping
The President is not to blame; his voice is most sincere:
"I haven't raised a single tax since I quit drinkin' beer."
Nobody wants to take the heat for squeezing us the harder,
Reducing the economy to welfare checks and barter.
Yet up they creep, those taxes drear, and no one is the wiser
How those greedy trolls can gnaw our wealth with keen incisor.
Whatever treasure you may hoard those fiendish trolls will find it
And with a calculating grin with some odd tax they'll bind it.
I cannot tell you all the ways their taxes make me sorry
For now I've just discovered that they've slapped one on this story!
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