The Final Tax

Said Statesman A to Statesman Z:
What can we tax that is not paying?
Were taxing every blessed thing
Heres what our people are defraying:

Tariff tax, income tax,
Tax on retail sales,
Club tax, school tax,
Tax on beers and ales,

City tax, county tax,
Tax on obligations,
War tax. wine tax,
Tax on corporations,

Brewer tax, sewer tax,
Tax on motor cars,
Bond tax, stock tax,
Tax on liquor bars,

Bridge tax, check tax,
Tax on drugs and pills,
Gas tax, ticket tax,
Tax on gifts in wills,

Poll tax, dog tax,
Tax on money loaned,
State tax, road tax,
Tax on all things owned,

Stamp tax, land tax,
Tax on wedding ring,
High tax, low tax,
Tax on everything!

Said Statesman A to Statesman Z:
That is the list, a pretty bevy;
No thing or act that is untaxed;
Theres nothing more on which to levy.

Said Statesman Z to Statesman A:
The deficit each moment waxes;
This is no time for us to fail
We will decree a tax on taxes.

Ellis Parker Butler

Ellis Parker Butler was an American author, humorist, and poet, best known for his short story 'Pigs Is Pigs.' Born on December 5, 1869, in Muscatine, Iowa, Butler became a prolific writer, contributing to numerous magazines and books over his career. He is remembered for his wit and humor, which marked his work. Butler passed away on September 13, 1937.

Ellis Parker Butler

The Sheep

Ellis Parker Butler, Simple Poetry

To G. M. W. And G. F. W.

Ellis Parker Butler, Simple Poetry

An Old-fashioned Garden

Ellis Parker Butler, Simple Poetry

Reasonable Interest

Ellis Parker Butler, Simple Poetry

English

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Monarch of Hannah's rocking-chair,
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The Statesmen

How blest the land that counts among
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Behold them mounting every stump,
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And come down hard!

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The earthquake too.

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I, I alone can show that black
Is white as grass."

They shout through all the day and break
The silence of the night as well.
They'd make, I wish they'd go and make,
Of Heaven a Hell.

A advocates free silver, B
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        MILTON.


It is o'er, it is o'er, my reign is o'er;
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From Dunfanaghy to Baltimore,
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Even now I behold your vanishing wings,
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The Sinking Fund Cried.

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        Good Crier, and tell
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        O yes! O yes!
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        *        *        *        *        *

Rooms of mahogany in tall sky scrapers
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The walls hear whispers and the semi-tones
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