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“Song for the Saddest Ides” by Ogden Nash 🇺🇸 (19 Aug 1902 – 19 May 1971)
Hayfoot, strawfoot, forward march!
Stiffen your backbone up with starch!
Strut like Hercules or Hector!
Ready for the Income Tax Collector!
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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.
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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.
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Citizen? Resident? Married? Single?
Living together, or don’t you mingle?
Blessed events? If so, please state
Change of status, its nature and date.
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Royalties? Rents? Commissions? Fees?
If none, explain their absence, please.
And let there be no legal flaw
In Deductions Authorized by Law.
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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.
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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.
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Presto! Chango! Hullabaloo!
Where does the money vanish to?
It’s used in research, children dear,
For ways to increase the tax next year.