Ode to the taxman . . .

. . . the sum of several thousand dollars. Ho ho.

And after that little quip, here’s another joke: the idea that the solution for what ails this country is another goddamn tax.  Sayeth the bard:

Tax his land,
Tax his bed,
Tax the table
At which he's fed.

Tax his work,
Tax his pay,
He works for peanuts
Anyway!

Tax his cow,
Tax his goat,
Tax his pants,
Tax his coat.

Tax his tobacco,
Tax his drink,
Tax him if he
Tries to think..

Tax his car,
Tax his gas,
Find other ways
To tax his ass.

Tax all he has
Then let him know
That you won't be done
Till he has no dough.

When he screams and hollers;
Then tax him some more,
Tax him till
He's good and sore.

Then tax his coffin,
Tax his grave,
Tax the sod in
Which he's laid.

When he's gone,
Do not relax,
It' s time to apply
The inheritance tax.

And here’s George Harrison:

[HT Owen McShane for the poem]