PUT A BUCK IN YOUR POCKET AND GIVE ONE TO UNCLE SAM – 2016

Frank Sinatra performed to perfection the classic saloon song about a spurned lover who needs to tell his sad story to Joe the  bartender at a quarter to three.  This parody lyric is about a fretful taxpayer who feels compelled on Aril 15 to disgorge to bartender Steve his angst over the annually dreaded ritual of filing a tax return.

PUT A BUCK IN YOUR POCKET, AND GIVE ONE TO UNCLE SAM
(To the tune, “That’s One for My Baby, and One More For the Road,” by  Harold Arlen and Johnny Mercer)

Set ‘em up Steve
It’s April the fifteenth, on tax filing eve
I’ve got the form here
I need a little booze to loosen the fear
For this line where it shows
How much one owes
Put me on edge, “damn”
You put a buck in your pocket,
And give one to Uncle Sam

Now don’t get me wrong
All my patriotic feelings run strong
That fervor feels nice
But wish that could feel it
For half of the price
It’s like you’d offer a meal
But not if you feel
They would hog the whole ham
You put a buck in your pocket
And give one to Uncle Sam

Where’s it all going?
The government keeps growing
It just grows and it grows
We keep on sowing
Without ever knowing
Where it all goes

 Well that does it Steve
The post office is closing
So I’ve got to leave
Thanks for the cheer
I probably will see you
This time next year
That is assuming that I’m
Not serving some time
If I get in a tax jam
Put a buck in my pocket
And give none to Uncle Sam

Put a buck in your pocket
And good luck with Uncle Sam

Lyric © 2012 by Robert S. Steinberg
All rights reserved

OFFSHORE

OFFSHORE
(To the tune of “Uptown” by Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil, as recorded by The Crystals in 1962)

He steps off an airplane down in Panama.
A lawyer takes his hand, and it’s planned
to be where they are.
It’s not very far

And shortly they’re setting up a BVI
and telling him the laws in his country
There don’t apply.
He’s a lucky guy

Cause when you go
Offshore, where people know the rules are lax.
Offshore, where no one ever pays no tax.
The creditors and wives, who’d throw knives
at you know the score.
You can’t be found, you’re underground
when you’re offshore.

Now cash ain’t the only wealth they come to hide.
They cobble real estate, feeling great
hiding under stones.
In homes no person owns.

The lawyers? They’re doing no due diligence.
Where larceny makes sense, there’s a fence
and they hold the keys.
Sweeping in big fees.

That’s why you go
Offshore, where anyone can park some dough
Offshore, where people wink, all in the know
Where lawyers are discrete, and you’ll meet
not one honest bore.
License to deal, license to steal.
When you’re offshore.

Lyric © 2016 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved.

DONALD WON’T BE LEAVIN’ SOON FOR DC

It appears that Donald Trump’s big mouth and impromptu, unconsidered remarks have finally taken a toll on his popular appeal. Many are starting to understand that loud crudity and flippant answers to serious questions are often indicative of empty-headedness.

DONALD WON’T BE LEAVIN’ SOON FOR DC
(To tune of “There’s a Boat that’s Leaving Soon for New York,” by George Gershwin, Ira Gershwin and Dubose Heyward, from the 1935 American Fold Opera, “Porgy and Bess”)

Donald won’t be leavin’ soon for DC.
Shot his mouth
and all the polls turned south, Sister.

They’ve been try’n to knock his train right off its tracks.
Foes and hacks.
Desperate last attacks, Mister.

If it’s left to the convention.
There will be a big what for.
And though it will be witless.
Brother we may witness
the meanest war you ever saw.

Though the GOP machine is in full gear.
Vote for Cruz?
Win and you still lose, Mister.

All the Wall Street cats were worried.
Donald didn’t need their cash.
So their henchmen started dumping
on him, and now they’re thumping
the one we called the King of Trash.

Donald won’t be leavin’ soon for DC.
Not this knave.
Or Lincoln leaves his grave, Sister.

Lyric © 2016 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved.