A center that bore a great leader’s name, A symbol of culture, of merit, of fame, Now carries a brand that’s suspect and lame: So artists avoid it, along with its shame.
Now our president posts it’s time to shut down; “No one rejects ME,” he thinks with a frown. “Time to remodel — I’ll teach this whole town, I may not be nice, but I DO wear the crown!”
Here is “The Great Healthcare Plan,” The finest concept known to man. No need to think of how this works Or who this helps and who this hurts.
This policy is the greatest, most wonderful healthcare dream, The biggest savings anyone has ever known or seen. We’ll slash the drugs, making deals with forced consent, By three hundred, four hundred — five hundred percent!
We can’t pay off the middle men, That’s up to you to do, my friend. If you need more to make you well, Then just follow our plan, straight to… well… straight to where I might one day dwell.
He lied about what was in store, To launch a swift, two-hour war. But our boss won’t explain, Now we’re in for more pain in a far away place, In a very messy state with a lengthy, complicated, intricate case of having much, much more on our plate than we ever should have ever, ever, ever asked for.
Release the files but just in part — Deception’s Pathway lies Too raw for Headline’s hungry Spark The whole would scandalize As Cards dealt from some hidden Deck With watching eyes confined The Truth must flame out gradually To hide the Guilt entwined —
They loaded files on Friday night, Though not the total lot; The press was vexed by partial truths But that is what we got.
On Saturday fifteen were gone — One noticed from before: A president in gilded frame — A photo in a drawer.
What this all means to common folk Escapes my simple mind When wealth can build a mighty wall That shields them from their crime —
And if a few are put in jail That does us little good For those that still control the wealth Will raise the price of food.
The message here is pretty clear And one that fits my rhyme That money spent judiciously Protects — even the damnedest — most despicable — devils of our time.