Rather than mess around providing commentary for this, I thought I’d just let the words of an old folk song – as recorded by Utah Philips – say what should be said. I’ve had this song in my head for quite a while, now, and I think I’ll pick up my We Have Fed You All a Thousand Years album and listen to it again.
The Two Bums
The bum on the rods is hunted down
As the enemy of mankind;
The other is driven around to his club
Is feted, wined and dined.
And they who curse the bum on the rods
As the essence of all that is bad,
Will greet the other with a winning smile
And extend him the hand so glad.
The bum on the rods is a social flea
Who gets an occasional bite;
The bum on the plush is a social leech,
Blood-sucking day and night.
The bum on the rods is a load so light
That his weight we scarcely feel,
But it takes the labor of dozens of men
To furnish the other a meal.
As long as you sanction the bum on the plush,
The other will always be there,
But rid yourself of the bum on the plush
And the other will disappear.
Then make an intelligent, organized kick,
Get rid of the weights that crush;
Don’t worry about the bum on the rods,
Get rid of the bum on the plush!
