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Show 1 WALT MASON 4 l HI OLD PROMISI New statesmen rise,, at every shift and seem as slick as wax; of fluent tongues they have the gift, aud they denounce tho tax, If they're elected they will lift the burden from our backs. Oh. we are taxed, we helpless skates, our load Is sad to see, and eer greater grow the weights that cripple you and me; hut thore are always al-ways candidates who'd gladly set us free. We listen to these breezy chaps, who flay 1 ho taxllst crimes, and give them all the public enaps ajid hope for belter times; soon wo may pay our tax. parhape, and have some surplus dimei. And we forget how in the past w' heard the same old song heard statesmen states-men make their pledges vast to right our t: ery wrong, and idle as a, veering veer-ing blast wore all thoa pledges strong. And we elect those gaudy birds who make the eagle screjiiii, who charm up with a flow of words like lunguago in a dream, and in the end they feed us curds where we'ro oxpectint; ' earn. 'Vou'M have to pay a whole lot more." the tax l ollerlor cries, "I know y ou'ra feeling sad and sore, but still the taxc rise, and longing for the days of yore von't help you weary guyB. " So to his door, In kegs and crates, we take the Iron men. the coin we've enrned by bearing weights or plying saw or pen: then come tome breezy candidates, and we nre slunc acaln. iropyrljht. Gnrco Matthew Adams i. |