
They look down from their penthouse
and turn up their nose
They see us all
as a murder of crows
Bunch of pests
and foul nuisances
Trying to eat of their crops!
Not sons
and daughters
and mommas
and pops
They don’t want to hear
of our lower class rambling
Why shan’t we continue
our financial gambling?
Their scarecrow is the media
Which deems us all decadent
We shall not yield
The cornfield
For we are
the 99 percent!
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