DO YOU LOVE ME?

Miami Herald columnist Leonard Pitts Jr’s opinion piece of April 15, 2018, “There’s no excuse for excusing Trump’s moral corruption,” also got me thinking about the eighteen months that have passed since his election. Our president’s narcissistic need for approval over that period reminds me of a song from the Broadway Musical Fiddler on the Roof in which Tevya asks Golda if she loves him (although Tevya was not a narcissist and the question in the show was touching and understandable as their marriage had been arranged). I’ve reimagined their duet as between President Trump and the American People.

 DO YOU LOVE ME?
(To the tune of portions of “Do you Love Me,” by Jerry Bock & Sheldon Harnick, from Broadway Musical Fiddler on the Roof (1971))

President Trump:  “Do you love me?”
America:  “Do we what?”
“Do you love me?”
“Do we love you?”

“Through these eighteen odd months
you’ve lied to us, bullied us
made a fuss.
Eighteen odd months and
what have you done?
Created new problems
while you were solving none.”

“But do you love me?”
“Are you nuts?”
“Do we love you?”
“We hate your guts”

“You’ve been chafing out nerves
with ego shtick
which hasn’t improved
the world one lick.
Threatening war in juvenile tweets.
Using vile language nobody wise repeats”

“But do you love me?”
“Where’s your brain?”
“Do you love me?”
“Like we love pain.”

“Sir Horse’s Rump
you are our bane”.

Lyric © 2018 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

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

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 sixteenth, tax filing eve
I’ve got the form here
But 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 would 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
And 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.

You put a buck in your pocket
And good luck with Uncle Sam

Lyric © 2012, 2018 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

 

IT’S BEGINNING TO FEEL A LOT LIKE TAX TIME

IT’S BEGINNING TO FEEL A LOT LIKE TAX TIME
(To tune of “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas,” by Meredith Willson (1951))

It’s beginning to feel a lot like tax time
April of the year
You’ve been scouring your checkbook for
Some charity checks and more
Taxes on the homestead you love dear

It’s beginning to feel lot like tax time
Must they ruin the spring?
Feel afraid of the debt you’ll owe
Afraid Uncle Sam will know
That you have not reported everything

Deduct for the family trip, even the wine that you sip
Claiming everything that you spend or do or use
Driven miles on the family car, no matter to where or how far
Self-assessment clouds the mind like booze
And those who face an audit jam the pews

It’s beginning to feel a lot like tax time
Moral codes eschew
Who’s to prevent you if, you take off for a nifty skiff?
And sail away across the ocean blue

It’s beginning to feel a lot like tax time
Bribe your CPA
Stick a pin in a voodoo doll, take a loan from your uncle Sol
Then file your tax return and pray

Lyric © 2012 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

 

A FOUL AND CRUSHING TIDE

A FOUL AND CRUSHING TIDE
(To the tune of, “Long and Winding Road, by Paul McCartney, as recorded by Paul McCartney and Wings)

A foul and crushing tide
of autocracy
I never thought I’d see.
This tide roll over me.
He answers to, “My Liege.”
Our rights are under siege.

Who’d justify the means
by his own evil ends?
One who pretends to love
free democracy.
While our Due Process Clause
he shreds to self-applause.

Every time he tells a lie
there’s people who’ll believe him.
Prove to them he’s told a lie
the fools will still believe him

This turning from the truth
feels so sad I could cry
In pain, I wonder why
our founders had to die.
We need them here today.
We’ve surely lost our way.

 

Lyric © 2018 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved