Mr. Politician what are we going to do with you, well from the looks of it let you be you.
I just can’t tell these days what’s behind those eyes and underneath those hairy grays.
A walking lie, a walking front, a walking postal boy for the cover of dot gov.
Oh my god you are the king of scheme, tell us what we want to hear and sell a shitty dream.
And America buys right in to it, while the rest looking at us stupid, the rest as in the greedy rich.
Cause the politician is there crawling Bitch, a crawling robot told to do when to do and how to do.
For the better of that dollar in the nasty grimy greedy unconscious pockets of those that turn good milk sour.
You think they care about you it's all a front, they not hurting for money so power is there come up.
You think they care about poor people or poverty furnished neighborhoods, while matters steady decline from worse to no where near good.
Perfectly conservative law abiding citizen is what a normal person would construct you out to be.
But yet you not like me, or anybody I know, how many times can you say you ever been poor, or been broke, hell at least no gas money for the pinto.
Nope can't do it uh, and the sad thing is the politician that can say that, we never hear of.
Mr. Politician is bad for my health, you not cigarettes is the leading cause of death.
Say no to P it does a mind wrong; twist it up to sound like a good song.
Smile in my face like you bringing all hope, and then shake a brother’s hand just to reach for the antibacterial soap.
Mr. Politician will fight to the end of anything he feel you don’t believe in but then, well we know how that story end.
It seems the best way to get one to resolute is to set the trap as a prostitute to constitute.
When Mr. Politician does wrong there’s always therapy, same case brothers get threw under the penitentiary.
A walking bank per say a non profit organization it appears, surrounded by lobbyist and billionaires posted in skyscrapers.
They tell me to vote it makes a difference our life, been polling out 14 years now and still going through strife.
A billion dollars is what it takes to run for president, the cost of taking a lie and turning it into the truth like its heaven sent.
I'm going to do this I'm going to do that but in the end you've got only your own back.
Your circle consist of the haves and the have mores, the main group of people you look out for.
That’s why I wrote this poem on a second grade level, no big words to describe your lack of effort.
Mr. Politician you come in all shades and color, religions and gender, even though Mr. is the subject.
While election season is the only time you can catch one in public.
All on T.V. in the media like they wise, have fun now revolutions are not televised.
By Kolin E.
I just can’t tell these days what’s behind those eyes and underneath those hairy grays.
A walking lie, a walking front, a walking postal boy for the cover of dot gov.
Oh my god you are the king of scheme, tell us what we want to hear and sell a shitty dream.
And America buys right in to it, while the rest looking at us stupid, the rest as in the greedy rich.
Cause the politician is there crawling Bitch, a crawling robot told to do when to do and how to do.
For the better of that dollar in the nasty grimy greedy unconscious pockets of those that turn good milk sour.
You think they care about you it's all a front, they not hurting for money so power is there come up.
You think they care about poor people or poverty furnished neighborhoods, while matters steady decline from worse to no where near good.
Perfectly conservative law abiding citizen is what a normal person would construct you out to be.
But yet you not like me, or anybody I know, how many times can you say you ever been poor, or been broke, hell at least no gas money for the pinto.
Nope can't do it uh, and the sad thing is the politician that can say that, we never hear of.
Mr. Politician is bad for my health, you not cigarettes is the leading cause of death.
Say no to P it does a mind wrong; twist it up to sound like a good song.
Smile in my face like you bringing all hope, and then shake a brother’s hand just to reach for the antibacterial soap.
Mr. Politician will fight to the end of anything he feel you don’t believe in but then, well we know how that story end.
It seems the best way to get one to resolute is to set the trap as a prostitute to constitute.
When Mr. Politician does wrong there’s always therapy, same case brothers get threw under the penitentiary.
A walking bank per say a non profit organization it appears, surrounded by lobbyist and billionaires posted in skyscrapers.
They tell me to vote it makes a difference our life, been polling out 14 years now and still going through strife.
A billion dollars is what it takes to run for president, the cost of taking a lie and turning it into the truth like its heaven sent.
I'm going to do this I'm going to do that but in the end you've got only your own back.
Your circle consist of the haves and the have mores, the main group of people you look out for.
That’s why I wrote this poem on a second grade level, no big words to describe your lack of effort.
Mr. Politician you come in all shades and color, religions and gender, even though Mr. is the subject.
While election season is the only time you can catch one in public.
All on T.V. in the media like they wise, have fun now revolutions are not televised.
By Kolin E.
