by Mac McGovern
Someone, please tell me,
if you know, where does,
all the money go?
Taxes, taxes, on everything,
Uncle Sam's coffers,
ka-ching, ka-ching.
I'm in debt over my head,
no relief in sight,
until I'm dead.
Whether at work, at play,
shopping, attending, a ball game,
it seems they want more every day
I pay in good faith,
year in, year out,
the return on this investment,
zero, or there about.
Then, come April 15th,
I live in fear,
I'm going to have to pay,
more again this year
I work very hard,
live day to day,
I look forward to when I can say,
Uncle, you get no more of my pay
Of course, when that happens,
it won't mean a thing,
he'll be at my funeral,
to tax,
my wedding ring
