Rat-Faced Capitalistic Bastards

All the important decisions in my life
have been made by other animals;
not people, as we know them, ladies and gentlemen,

but craven, despicable and vain; slick, deceptive and resilient,
rat-faced capitlalistic bastards.

I'm sure you've seen one on TV
making polished but incoherent, happy but false remarks
and offering tittie-films for sale.
When they face a new situation they see it as an opportunity
to screw you and me,

They don't think, they act,
just like rat-faced capitalistic bastards.

On Saturdays they tee off
in rat-faced foursomes, cheating each other without blinking,
standing around in pastel slacks.

They look like the rest of us but better:
tailored suits,
expensive shoes, neck ties, jackets, gold,
meticulously groomed snouts and whiskers.

They live in fancy rooms
charter the company jet
and check in from time to time
to monitor earnings and maximize potentials.

They make molehills out of mountains,
turn orchards into parking lots
and water into mud.
They're well insured
they wrote the fine print
which furthers their predatory success,
they have twinkling eyes
pernicious claws
and cold tails coiled inside capacious trousers.

They make war on freedom
on decent food
on legitimate expression
on libraries
on factory floors;
they make war on drugs
and war with drugs,
they make war on imagination
war with guns and money

dropping weapons on struggling noncombatants
they are inflammatory, cynical and persistent,
heartless, reactionary and vain,
relentlessly inventing useless products
such as fighter bombers
and the New York Times.

They own clear channels
which they use to penetrate and perpetrate
the collective mind
casually nullifying the expression
of democratic principles.

They spread rat turds from dirty rat's asses.

I call them rat-faced capitalistic bastards.

They own the mineral rights
the broadcasting right
the timber rights
and the right to sniff along behind, checking
up on what you read,
who you sleep with,
and what you wear to bed,
making deadly sneak attacks
upon your exhausted body,
creeping through private stashes.

Rat-faced capitalistic bastards,

they own the army, the navy
and the US Marines.
They own the wreck of the Hesperus,
the innocent romantic songs,
and they control all property,
public, private and intellectual.

Protected by federal statute,