A DEMOCRATIC DIALOGUE 
Father, must I go to work? 
No, my lucky son; 
We’re living now on Easy Street - 
On dough from Washington. 
We’ve left it up to Uncle Sam, 
So don’t get exorcised; 
Nobody has to give a damn - 
We’ve all been subsidized. 
But if Sam treats us all so well 
And feeds us milk and honey. 
Please, Daddy, tell me what the hell 
He’s going to use for money? 
Don’t worry. Bub; there’s not a hitch 
In this here noble plan - 
He simply soaks the filthly rich 
And helps the common man. 
But father, won’t there come a time 
When they run out of cash. 
And we have left them not a dime ? 
Then things will go to smash. 
My faith in you is shrinking, son - 
You nosy little brat. 
You do too damn much thinking, son. 
For a Truman Democrat! 
