It’s Mayor Mike Bloomberg, that Big Apple prick
(We know in an instant it sure ain’t St. Nick)
More rapid than most trades his insults they came
As he whined and he sniffed and he cast about blame.
“Now teachers, now firemen, each union and student
The rich can’t pay taxes, it just isn’t prudent,
For my millionaire friends, for the Street that’s named Wall
I have rid parks of campers, and smashed one and all.”
But as dry leaves that before wild hurricanes fly
When we meet with an obstacle mount to the sky
Throughout the country, our Occupy grew
With hearts full of outrage and a mic check or two
And thus in a twinkling a new hope is born
We’re just saying No to political porn
But Mike won’t give up and he’s gone on a tour!
In hopes that the Oligarchs still will endure.
He’s the face of the Third Way and fiscal restraint,
And as for his running, he insists that he ain’t.
But Shrillionaire Mike in his plea for austerity
Is making quite sure of his place in posterity.
And the Ghost of Ayn Rand, a right crabby old elf
Haunts Congressional Halls with her Cult of the Self.
Cut off their food stamps, cut off their heat!
Make the poor suffer from their heads to their feet.
With holidays coming, the Pubs get enjoyment
From refusing to fund any more unemployment
They claim that the poor are too lazy to work.
While they fill their own pockets with government perks.
But by laying their thumbkins in front of their nose
Treating voters like garbage and rich people’s foes
They’ve caused a revolt and are getting epistles.
Human rights manifestos are flying like missiles.
We shall hear them exclaim, as they flee out of sight:
We won’t run again! Adios, and Good Night!