Rich folks’ taxes were shriveling,
Like grapes in the sun;
Civil liberties vanished
Until there were none.

Dubya was tucked in
For a night in the sack;
Next morning he’d get a
Fat check from a PAC.

Unemployment might run out,
But what did he care?
CEO’s would snatch options
Out of thin air.

Halliburton would prosper,
Dick Cheney had said;
Visions of dividends
Danced in his head.

When what before George’s eyes did arise
But a vision that made him distrust his eyes.
Before him were people in trouble, in need:
Aged, homeless, single moms, with children to feed.

“We don’t need a tax break,” they shouted in chorus
“We just need a White House that does something for us.”
They pointed their fingers, they wailed in despair;
“Who are you?” said George W. “Why are you there?”

“We’re the people,” they answered. “It’s your job to lead us.”
“Care for people, find new jobs we can work at to feed us.”
George was startled, he said: “Don’t you know I’m compassionate?”
“But there’s just so much wealth, and it’s my job to ration it.”

The folks in the vision all pointed their fingers
at George; in his mind, the image still lingers.
“Out with Dubya and Cheney”, they chanted away;
“Down with Rove, Ari Fleisher, and of course, Tom DeLay.

Give us a Senate that has no Trent Lott.
This is democracy -- perhaps you forgot.”
Bush awoke in a swelter; his forehead was feverish;
This wasn’t his white-bread world, Beaver Cleaverish.

There were people out there that he had no idea of:
Poor and black, gay and female: not the class, all of we’re of.
He sprung from his bed and began to take notes.
“Oh my God,” thought the President, “They might have votes.

I hope it’s not true; what else could be horrider?
They might even win the election in Florida.”
And he worried away through the rest of the night
About power for the people, and to Bush a good fright.