Song for the Saddest Ides.
by Ogden Nash.
Hayfoot, strawfoot, forward march!
Stiffen your backbone up with starch!
Strut like Hercules or Hector!
Ready for the Income Tax Collector!
Give three cheers and give them thrice!
Roar like lions, or maybe mice!
Rush like lightning, or maybe glue,
To the Dept. of Internal Revenue.
Left foot, right foot, heel and toe,
One little drink and off we go,
Fresh from the tub in our Sunday raiment,
Wee hands clutching the quarterly payment.
Citizen? Resident? Married? Single?
Living together, or don’t you mingle?
Blessed events? If so, please state
Change of status, its nature and date.
Royalties? Rents? Commissions? Fees?
If none, explain their absence, please.
And let there be no legal flaw
In Deductions Authorized by Law.
Salaries? Wages? Sale of Property?
Here comes the Notary, hippety-hoppety!
Raise your hand and take your oath
To tell the truth or bust. Or both.
Boomelay boom on the big bass drum!
Where is the money coming from?
You must borrow and I must beg,
And the last to pay is a rotten egg.
Presto! Chango! Hullabaloo!
Where does the money vanish to?
It’s used in research, children dear,
For ways to increase the tax next year.