The old story of crabs in a bucket. Only here it is we the
people in place of the crabs. In the place of our poser
who wishes he was a natural born citizen—May the bird of paradise fly up his nose-an elephant caress him with his toes
May he know intimately the sailors curse for he is a mag a scag a bloody rag a slippery slimey slut—may his days be few and his office taken by another-I can’t say it any better.
we’re crabs now?
dang