The Holidays are drawing near
and it is hard to think
of something which I'm thankful for
not at the chasm's brink.
While the D.C. Nouveau Versailles
champagne flutes toast and clink,
we Country Class have watched our cheer
and living standard sink.
And so I say the day has come
to draw stark line in sand,
to cast vote of “No Confidence”,
to no more extend hand,
to let the chips fall where they may,
to loose horse from its stable,
to say to those who wish us ill -
“you're not welcome at my table.”
If you voted for Barry O.
and don't think it mistake,
if you claim that your rights extend
to bread which I will break,
if what's mine should be your “fair share”
as told in Marxist fable,
petulance is the dish you bring -
you're not welcome at my table.
If you think Cloward-Piven is
a right-wing tactic scare,
as is all talk of Alinsky,
if your neighbors are “racists” who
deserve the “Teabag” label,
ignorance is the dish you bring -
you're not welcome at my table.
If you're what Codevilla called
one of our “Ruling Class,”
believe you're “best and brightest” in
each room through which you pass,
think all mankind must be “improved”
and that you're the most able,
arrogance is the dish you bring -
you're not welcome at my table.
But if the lives of others you
leave well enough alone,
know government will bait its hook
to bow you to its throne,
know The Good Life is diff'rent for
each of your Countrymen,
then sit and break some bread with me
and we'll begin again.
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