Look friend, if it was up to me, the Bolsheviks would rest
Their muddy boots on legislators' desks in Washington
And everywhere, and all those people we see smirking
On TV would be in jail, awaiting transportation to a sewage
Plant or iron mine, their lovely homes stripped clean of all
The fancy things they'd bought for them, the rooms made
Into housing for the millions on the street.  The Constitution
Would be set alight outside the Capitol, and all the churches
Would be taxed, and guns would nearly disappear.  The right
To speak would be restricted, not a right to doctors' care,
And everyone would get to eat.  They'd earn enough to buy
The things they needed for their families, and all the major
Corporations would be placed in public hands, their profits
Used to pay the costs of meeting everybody's needs.  

I know.  None of these things will happen.  All the Bolsheviks
Are gone, and, in their places, kleptocrats and venal scoundrels
Placing themselves far above the rest of us.  They've subsidized
The politicians and the roaming fascist mobs.  It's fine to mistreat
Women and be cruel to minorities, fine to let your superstitions
Render you compassionless.  What isn't fine is doing something
On behalf of everyone.  I tell you, friend, if you should try,
Someone will shoot you down.