Detectiverse

Taxes by Marian Rothe

© 1993 by Marian Rothe

The loss he took he did compound;

He thought he was on solid ground.

He padded his costs and padded his liens

And lowered his profits and lowered his means;

Tripled dependents more than by three,

Not honest, not truthful at all was he.

He thought he’d fooled old Uncle Sam

Till he discovered he was in a jam.

So now as he dwells in jail cell small

He wishes that he’d declared it all.

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