Mary and the IRS

Mary had a little lamb,
She took it out to play,
Then an IRS guy came
And snatched the lamb away.

"That lamb was a gift to me,"
Little Mary said.
"Sorry, kid," the agent sneered.
"It's income to the fed."

Mary then began to cry,
And she began to wail.
Horrified, the agent snapped
And hauled her off to jail.

"We own you, you dumb-assed kid,"
The laughing agent said.
"You owe us the day you're born
Until the day you're dead."

Mary's parents had some cash
To get her out of jail,
But it was just not enough
To make the girl's bail.

"Mary's cell has been her home
For most of this long day,
And home to us is income, fools,
And on it she will pay.

"Little Mary breathed our air,
And that is income, too.
Pay us now," the agent said.
"Or it's a cell for you!"

Mary's parents had no choice;
They joined her in the cell,
And for the rest of their poor lives
That is where they'll dwell.

Every day the agents come
And taunt that family,
They sing the IRS's song
And gush it out with glee:

"We'll tax you from the day you're born.
We'll tax you when you're dead.
We'll tax the dirt you're buried in,
We are the mighty fed.

"You're all the slaves of government.
You're bred to give us cash
And when you can't give us no more
We'll tax your dead fat ass.

"Tax and spend and tax and spend!
Oh let us tax and spend!
Get this straight you slaving fools:
The tax will never end!"