Tax and Spend

I roll out early, sun not in the sky,

I'm running this backhoe, the hours drag by,

Sweat on my brow, back’s feeling tight,

Grind through the day, push into the night.

Hands calloused, mind sharp as steel,

Labor’s my anthem, work’s what I feel,

But come the end, when payday's here,

A chunk's gone missing, it’s crystal clear.

Taxman’s grip, cold and strong,

Taking my earnings, feels so wrong,

Sending taxes abroad, won't fix my road,

All while my savings seem to erode.

The crooks spend my money, as fast as i earn.

I'd love to stop them, But I never learn.

They must think money's magic,

It would be funny if it wasn't so tragic...

Nonsense programs, line their pockets deep,

Socialist waste, makes my heart weep,

Social schemes, in endless streams,

My toil feeds their utopian dreams.

Work hard, they say, American creed,

Yet my pay, they repeatedly bleed,

For projects grand, with little return,

My fire of resentment continues to burn.

In halls of power, they decide my fate,

Spending my money on a socialist slate,

Promises thick, and delivery thin,

People who work hard, it wears really thin.

Hard-earned dollars, spent with ease,

On programs that never cure the disease,

Band-aids on problems, grand displays,

While the working class struggles, day by day.

I labor for family, for future, for pride,

Yet their hands in my pockets, can’t be denied,

Work hard, taxed hard, that’s the claim,

In the end, who wins this game?

Echoes of fairness, justice they preach,

But the fruits of my labor slip out of reach,

In this position, I stand and scream,

Where’s the prize in my American dream?