OLIGARCHY IS MALARKEY

 I went to beg the oligarchs for a bag of dried, red beans,

My kids are just all skin and bone, and dying from the too leans,

The ollies all said no,

Now my kids won't grow,

I won't have to worry about clothes; the kids won't outgrow their jeans.

DYSTOPIAN CHILD.

 Mama couldn't afford to buy me milk, so I got a bad case of the rickets,

I tried catching little black bugs to eat, but was way too weak to snatch the crickets,

I did try,

Not to die,

Next I'll go to the bologna factory; just past the protests and pickets.