by Berton Braley
We've loaded him with a lot of taxes
And rules and codes but there's something funny;
In spite of the way his burden waxes
The son-of-a-gun is making
Whenever he's given a boost to trade
We've taken an extra tribute off it,
But still the villain is undismayed,
The son-of-a-gun has shown
We grind out daily a brand new grist
Of regulations by Profs. And scholars,
But the Rugged Individualist
Is still producing some surplus
We've frowned on personal, private gains,
As most immoral, and due for censure,
But the son-of-a-gun with Business Brains
some new adventure!
In spite of Planners and New Deal sages
With Communistical dreams and yearnings,
This Capitalistic guy pays wages,
of his stocks and bonds show earnings!
We've moved the bases, and changed the lines,
And altered the rules for every inning,
With added penalties,
But the son-of-a-gun insists on winning!
It's anti-social to fail to fail,
It makes our wonderful schemes look funny;
Rush the Traitor
at once to jail,
For the son-of-a-gun is making money!