Bring It On

Oh Mama, can this really be the end /

to be stuck down here in Mobile with Memphis blues again?   Bob Dylan

                                                            

I’m girding my loins, prepping for the new regime.

It’s alright Mama, bring it on. The kid who ran with scissors

is cutting out the fat from big government, the waste

like license plates, speed limits and stop signs.

Crime in the streets will be gone if we have fewer streets.

Bring it on, bring it on. Put the axe to silent letters

like the d in Wednesday. In fact, eliminate the whole day;

Six days a week is all we need. We promised

to help the working man and there it is. Drill, baby, drill

not only for oil but for you dentists filling cavities

without that devil, Commie fluoride plot.

And why is two plus two, always four, I ask you?

Depends on who wants to know, the IRS or the bank.

What’s a mandate for? Bring it on.

We’ve brought in the best and brightest to fill the posts:

Falderal, Balderdash, Poppycock, and Hogwash.

As promised, we’ll be getting rid of all side effects

by banishing prescription meds. And remind me,

what’s so bad about a little polio or measles? 

Shucks, worms need love too.

Those were the good old days. We got rid of some elites,

those brainy eggheads, show-offs, know-it-alls.

As Don Corleone never said, Father knows best. Bring me back

to the time when real men didn't flinch from bar room brawls,

no uppity voices and women knew their place.

Can't wait for America to grate again. Bring it on.