You would think that funny men
Who are not funny
Would have better things to do
Than pick the pockets of working people
Selling snake oil to laborers they secretly hate
The not so funny sons and daughters
Of working class who put on airs
Desperate to shape themselves
Into some sort of pseudo intellectuals
So they don’t have to admit
Where they came from
Ashamed of the grease stains
On their father’s coveralls
And the dirt under their father’s nails,
Funny men who stopped being funny
When they started to hobnob
With Nouveau riche like themselves
A private Liberal social club
To which working people are not invited
Selling snake oil so that their rich doctor
Friends can continue to drive Mercedes
And their insurance executives can
Continue to drink the blood of those
Of us who actually have to pay the bills,
Snobbish would be funny men
Thinking their shit doesn’t stink,
Oozing morality they can never possibly
Live up to.
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