We scamper around like timid little mouses
If we can't pay our taxes we will lose our land or our houses,
We hide and we fret when it is time to pay those taxes
A working man must always worry, and a rich man he just relaxes.
We work and we slave to buy and pay off our homes
But, we are not free from those taxes, even in the catacombs,
In the end of our life we own nothing not even our own soul
We then become chips and dice in our makers payroll.
Our souls they will belong either to the Devil or to GOD
Paying our taxes and our freedom we discover was just a facade,
We can own homes and land and gold and a beautiful diamond ring
But, if we don't pay their taxes, we cannot own or keep anything.
For us to live and prosper, unto our government we must pay a tribute
And if we don't, then our own government against us they will prosecute,
I just need and want to grind my teeth with anger along with my axes
I hate just to live to work to pay the Government my money; their taxes.
Whether I eat, or buy clothes, or go to the doctor, or pay my mortgage or rent
I must always give the government my money by paying them their percent,
And when I die, I know that I will not have to pay those taxes any more
But, then who will pay for our government, and who will pay for the poor.
Randy L. McClave
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem