Convention musings:

 

Give me your tired, your poor

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.

They can start a bar or candy store.

We’ll make ours in private equity.

 

Descendants of these hapless schlubs

In just a generation

Can join us in our country clubs,

Denouncing immigration.

 

And proudly look back on the life

They built upon this shore. Cheers

Will echo for their toil and strife

At least once every four years.

 

And when the game of life is scored

You’ll see that hard work pays

Being rich is our reward

For grandpa’s 16-hour days.

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