Lincoln’s Farm

Lincoln’s Farm

Composing rhymes with buckshot,

High beams on the prey.

The victims are the bloodshot,

Leaders of the fray.

Have taken masks to keep their tasks,

Come Election Day.

So you won’t know statistics show,

You have no voice to say

You are what was fed you,

From baby food to cake.

From lima beans to collard greens,

From spinach for Christ’s sake.

Popeye was a genius,

Who kept his muscles large.

By eating all his spinach,

The captain of the barge.

That came from New York City,

And Washington DC 

From Hollywood Cal I Forn I A,

To be dumped on you and me.

So we take all the garbage,

And eat with wooden spoons.

And think we get the message,

And hope we vote real soon.

But that comes only once a year,

Once a year my friend.

Once a year to voice your fears,

And try to make amends.

For all that late night conferencing,

Where money is changing hands.

Welcome to the promising,

Continued promise land.

Where everyone is gathering,

From places near and far.

To taste the taste of our freedom,

To drive their very own car.

Down a pavement interstate,

Or highway 66.

The dreams the same,

The names have changed,

The people are the bricks.

So when you find the restroom,

On that lonely stretch of road.

Make sure you check the guest room,

Where you carry your load.

And tell them life is easy.

And tell them justice fair.

Make sure they keep their principles,

Cause hard work pays the fare.

For Democracy in principle 

Is just like Lincoln’s farm.

Don’t dare to shoot old Lincoln 

And we will all just get along 

Meglodave 

Circa 1998