‘Twas the week before new years, when all through my town
Fun burglars were stirring through furrowed frowns
Their righteousness hung on the end of their pyres
With which they would rouse evil with morality fires.
You see they were mad at the end of their reign
At being trounced by the green’s grassroots campaign.
These children knew nothing of ruling men said,
Why they have nothing but idealistic ideas in their heads;
”And me with my bureaucracy practiced for years,
Identified youths as the sum of all fears.
They drink and they party and make such a clatter
With their fun loving ways they make me mad as a hatter
Away to Neal Dow’s window I flew like a flash,
Calling an anti alcohol research beurau for cash.
I jumped to conclusions I pounced with my truth,
My hypothesis statement: “Get rid of the youth!”
Young voters, green party, teen advocates,
How many minutes do you have? Better not place you bets.
I’ll ban them I’ll trounce them I will taunt you at large.
And it all suits you well you ungrateful charge.”
After fourteen days of mourning and woe
the seeds of gentrification began to sow.