'' We Have The Means '' Poem by Bri Mar

As one relaxes,
Others wield axes,
It's amazing you plebs never learn,
As a billionaire I pay no taxes,
While you're on pay as you earn.

It is not a lie,
Without plebs we'd die,
It's your cash that makes us so rich,
But with the rules we refuse to comply,
No tax paid without any hitch.

In our offshore accounts,
We store vast amounts,
World governments are in on the act,
Our seedy billions nobody counts,
It's fiddling, that is a fact.

The large institutions,
Make sparse contributions,
Vast profits are their main aim,
If there's a con they'll find the solutions,
To the rich it's all part of the game.

Though you earn less,
You suffer the stress,
You pay far more tax than us,
Miss a payment they'll cause you distress,
Though they never cause us any fuss.

You're being robbed blind,
But you don't seem to mind,
That we are fiddling you rotten,
Obeying the law is so unrefined,
When you know, our cash is ill-gotten.

We the one per cent,
Will circumvent,
Your rules concerning taxation,
You may resent,
But you won't prevent,
Our desire for self-preservation.

Though it may derange,
It's not really strange,
Subservience is contained in your genes,
While we fiddle you lot never change,
To steal from you,

‘' We Have The Means ‘'