Personal my fear, not contrived.
Manipulated by them, it is not, I have brains.
Cocain for the G.O.P.
Alcohol for the rest, till there blind.
Crusty old men and their rights.
We are running out of racist whites, you can't vote.
Taking your civil rights.
Vote for me and I'll take your life.
Fourty seven percent say they will.
Sure, some of these crusty old whites, have worked hard.
They believe, that by exploiting others is how you get ahead.
These are Christians.
The far right of fear, without question.
Once you retire, you should die.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
they'd work out quick not to retire if 'retire' meant 'to die'. How about a few internal commas?