But go and live on the fat of the land,
Fall in with the grafters, Join the band.
I'll come in the fall if I can lease
And we'll help the Profiteers gouge
And fleece."
That's the reason I'm here. Old Bo!
I'm out for the kale, if you must
know.
You tell the "Thinkers" behind the
moat,
That the Farmer is tired of playing
the goat.
So build your houses to meet the
need,
For the Farmer is coming to this rich
feed,
A festival rare on the fat of the land.
The "Thinkers" don't know—but, the
track needs sand!
Farmer Atlas has weakened—you're
all out of luck,
Before his back's broken, the camel
has struck! 