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I
T is just a little shady for the autocrats to-day, As the shell games they are playing we doubt have come to stay; They have picked out every kernel of the nut at their com- mand, And ordered up a trump of clubs--yet hold a losing hand. The plutocrats, on velvet, with their millions stored away So far have held the winning hand; they surely made it pay, Because they held the lever; the fulcrum was the price, And they froze the little fellow as stern zero does the ice. The trusts which corner people, who roam outside their fold, Are fleecing every unshorn lamb which they can catch and hold; They " beef " the whole community; they work a clever plan And really snap their fingers at indulgent Uncle Sam. A mutual plan is argued by the men who set the price; Just say an hundred million--so easy, smooth and nice; This little compensation will keep the wolf away Till they reach a height in prestige, then ask for double pay. The mass which bear the burdens that the higher-ups impose Can sometimes see the reason for their multitude of woes, But little wires here and there that reach far down the line By politicians may be pulled, in spring or winter-time. Our rolling stock, in fact the earth, is going at a rate To cause deep apprehension about our ship of state; And with the open throttle, the race for wealth and fame Will end in sad disaster; then Christ will rule again. |