Well, it’s time to go whoring—
Gotta go and score some bread.
It involves some butt-lickin’,
After that, givin’ some head.
Lousy ordinary people
Are loutish, make you sick!
They can’t make no gains, because my crew
Gonna sell ’em down the crick.
I’m so sick of their complainin’,
So when I’m writin’ bills,
My ticker will start to quicken
’cause I’m gonna raid the tills.
It’s a fact; it ain’t no rumor
That my whittlin’ is rife:
I’ll score from the poor—they’re a tumor—
All for them with budget knife.

Treat the rich: they’re the ones that I’ve stood for,
Treat the rich: they ain’t got enough and need more,
Treat the rich: I blow ’em and fill my war chest,
Treat the rich: God damns the poor; wealthy are blessed.

I am called the budget shrinker
And I’m out for number 1.
Budget must go on a diet
And so must most everyone—
Like folks stuck in a hovel;
Worse are they gonna be screwed.
I’d just love to take a shovel. . .
Bury them and all their brood.
Though U.S. status is “junk bonds,”
I’m still gettin’ the itch
To give tax breaks to the yacht club. . .
Put the rest in a ditch.
Many programs I’ll be zappin’
All except, that is the kind
That help the wealthy, and tough shit
To all those left behind.

Treat the rich: they’re the ones that I’ve stood for,
Treat the rich: they got deep pockets; I’m their whore,
Treat the rich: I blow ’em and fill my war chest,
Treat the rich: Gotta give more to those who’re blessed.

Screw the middle class, them too—
That is, what remains of them. . .can’t relate.
I bow to Mammon and the mansion crew;
I’ve learned it’s they I must fellate.
If you ain’t rich, then you I must berate.
Now I’m givin’ a handjob to those with gold—
Then I go see my patrons at the glory hole.
I’m cravin’ all the good things
That money sure can buy.
I’m tired of the belly aches—
So just f**k off and die
If you ain’t got bags of riches.
If you ain’t got lots o’ cash
I’ll don that great strap-on and then
Just shove it up your ass

Treat the rich: they’re the ones that I kneel for,
Eat the rich: for big gifts I suck until I’m sore,
Treat the rich: when I’m done, I fill my war chest,
Eat the rich: they get real sore if I’ve not fressed.