“This, again, was among the fictions of Coketown. Any capitalist there, who had made sixty thousand pounds out of sixpence, always professed to wonder why the sixty thousand nearest Hands didn’t each make sixty thousand pounds out of sixpence, and more or less reproached them every one for not accomplishing the little feat. What I did you can do. Why don’t you go and do it?” From Hard Times by Charles Dickens
The ripping yarns and the elusive charms
Of rich nouveau and old
They care a lot for what they’ve got
But not a bit for the hungry and cold
Their money they keep in pockets most deep
Scrimping and saving they often do tell
While disdaining each tax angrily they wax
About spending to help those unwell
Living off their greed shunning those in need
Their selfishness knows no bounds
We got rich its true and surely so can you
They pronounce while releasing the hounds
The hungry and poor want nothing more
Than a chance to live in grace
They only ask for what’s needed but their cries go unheeded
As cold reality they face
Life is a difficult chore for those who are poor
The wealthy don't understand
They gloat and they preen while making the scene
Unwilling to lend a hand
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