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Osama Bin Laden

When the Nation’s day is finally done,
And the Rockefellers have no more fun,
And the fever finds its source,
And the project runs its course:

None will weep at America’s last breath,
When the yoeman-bourgeois reaches its death.
If mine’s been beaten, enslaved, riddled with strife,
Why shouldn’t yours end early? You’ve had an air conditioner your whole life.