THAT’S WHY THEY WANT MY FINGERPRINT

The government in Venezuela is now requiring besieged consumers to submit to fingerprinting when buying goods.

THAT’S WHY THEY WANT MY FINGERPRINT
(To the tune of, “That’s Why the Lady is a Tramp,” by Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart)

There is no butter
And still the fools wait
Out in the gutter
The bread’s gone by eight
Peer through shop windows at bare shelves they hate
That’s why they want my fingerprint.

Am I a hoarder?
The state wants no greed
Write down my order
For coffee indeed
Wait in that line, what they have I don’t need
That’s why they want my fingerprint.

Who will reform our economy?
What comedy.
Some joke, we’re broke.

If you want dollars, you’d need your own mint
That’s why they want my fingerprint.

They say it’s smugglers.
Who make the goods rare
But they’re like jugglers.
Ten pins in the air.
Nobody hears them above the despair.
That’s why they want my fingerprint.

As merchants leave they board up the shops.
Farms grow no crops.
Oil’s sweet, to eat?

No toilet paper, don’t they get the hint?
That’s why they want my fingerprint.

Lyric © 2014 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

 

DEVALUATION

Venezuela’s government has announced an overhaul of its foreign currency system that has been widely labeled a stealth devaluation.

DEVALUATION
(To tune of “Imagination,” by Jimmy Van Heusen & Johnny Burke (1940))

Devaluation’s not funny
It steals the value of money
Prices hop like a bunny
And no one is amused

Devaluation is phony
Just like that ole’ one-trick-pony
A government sells baloney
When populism’s abused

Oh I love to by a brand new car
The gasoline is cheap
But it takes a zillion bolivars so
My old car I keep

Devaluation is needed?
Cause stupid laws go unheeded?
They try to camouflage
The great leader’s a clown
And as Maduro’s ego deflates
A country leaves town

© 2014 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

A MINISTRY FOR HAPPINESS

I wonder if Venezuela’s President Nicolas Maduro was mindful of The Ministry of Love from George Orwell’s 1949 dystopian novel, “1984,” when he created his newest cabinet post, “the Ministry of Supreme Social Happiness?  I wonder, will the new ministry will have a Room 101?

 A MINISTRY FOR HAPPINESS
(To tune of, “Happy Talk,” by Rodgers and Hammerstein from Broadway show, “South Pacific.”)

For happiness they’ve formed a ministry.
But what’ve we got to be happy about?
Inflation rates that soar?
Crowds heading for the door?
A Ministry for happiness? What for?

For happiness they’ve formed a ministry.
Better be happy or they’ll call you out.
With no shoes on your feet.
And not enough to eat.
A ministry for happiness? How sweet!

Orwell said it right.
They’ll tell you day is night.
Their formula for happiness is fear.
If despots will survive
Then 2 plus 2 is five.
Room 101 is waiting for you dear

For happiness they’ve formed a ministry
Government telling you just how to feel.
But people aren’t blind.
They’ve two eyes and a mind.
A ministry for happiness? Get real!

Lyric © 2013 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

WHO’LL CRY FOR YOU ARGENTINA?

Argentina is following close on the heels of Venezuela towards disaster.  But without the oil revenue, it may overtake its model.  Debt default and cash controls won’t pave a road towards economic growth.  What grows is inflation, yet,  President Kirchner persists.

WHO’LL CRY FOR YOU ARGENTINA?

(To tune of “Don’t Cry for me Argentina,” by Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice from London and Broadway show, “Evita”)

Who’ll cry for you Argentina?
You’re drowning like Venezuela
Those charming Kirchners
A total failure
Fed by delusions
Fashion regalia

Who are they kidding? Look where you are
Trying what didn’t work in the USSR
Pure Socialism
When seen through a prism, no light filters through
And life’s not better
In fact, life’s unbearable, what’s one to do?
Your leaders don’t answer
They haven’t a clue

Who’ll cry for you Argentina?
You’re sailing with Venezuela
On dream-filled oceans
A leaky wailer
The sea is angry
Poor drunken sailor

Don’t dance your tangos, don’t sing your songs
As long as this government reigns
A fiesta is wrong, music doesn’t belong here
Joy is too foolish
Only fools call a dance when the future is gone?
And what do they tell you?
Your president says “Tango-on.”

Who’ll cry for you Argentina?
You’re battered and broken-hearted
A proud beloved land
Those who’ve departed
Feel lost and cheated
These populistas,
Must be defeated

Lyric © 2013 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved