I shoveled and shoveled the snow,

The little bastards came ‘round on Saturday

When the snow was light and fluffy,

When I could sweep it away

Or at least shovel it away with minimal effort,

“Want me to shovel your driveway, mister?

“No thanks, little bastards, I’ll do it myself.”

But Sunday,

Sunday when the snow was deep in drifts and crusty,

So heavy in my shovel,

Sunday, when I would have paid the little bastards

anything to shovel

The little bastards were nowhere to be seen.

I remembered when I was a little bastard myself

And how I would go from block to block,

Soaked with sweat and melting snow

And shovel until it got dark,

Never calculating like the little bastards of today

How one day would be easy but the next hard

And I began to wonder what that meant,

That the little bastards were so calculating,

so inherently lazy at such an early age.

And it dawned on me that my president was

So like these little lazy calculating bastards.

And I got sick, I got sick as I realized that when these little lazy calculating bastards would be old enough to go to war that they would be the ones beating the war drums and calling everyone else a coward and a traitor if they opposed the war while they, conniving little bastards like they were, would stay home snug in their ivory towers or in their plush corporate offices while the poor working class bastards like me and my kind shuffled off to do their dirty work and to make them richer.

Yes, they made me sick, the dirty little lazy bastards!