Monday, November 5, 2012

In Honor of Election Day

This was written by Grandad in 1988, so the dates are a little off, but the sentiment is very timely.

Nineteen hundred eighty-eight
Is an election year
And what the politicians say
is all we're gonna hear

They all call each other crooks
They say things are a mess
They really sling a lot of mud
And spread the old B.S.

A few of them run on their records
And say nothing about the others
Those are the ones I'd like to elect
If I could have my druthers

When November ninth gets here
Some of them will be sad
The election will be over
And I sure will be glad

D. B. Cox

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