By R. O. Dent.
A Goldsmith created our financial credit,
And gave it out only to us as a debit.
Society groans, with the weight of his loans,
But us rabbits don’t want Social Credit!
God gave us the earth and the hearth and the hill,
And we’ve soil, moon and sun with never a bill.
But something for nothing we hate with a will,
And us rabbits don’t want any free credit still!
We’ve abundance and plenty and even more debt,
To be sure, but we need so much more of it yet,
We’ll take every billion of debt that you’ll let us,
‘Cause for bunnies it’s better than carrots and lettuce!
On deficits and budgets and inflation we pass,
For recessions and bankruptcy and such just ain’t grass.
Debt’s nothing to us but a few coins of brass,
Social Credit to rabbits is just a damned farce!
The A plus B theorem’s a horrible joke,
Just thinking on it would make a hare choke.
Old Major Douglas was a damned clever bloke,
But thinking like him? We’d rather go broke.
Our credit was always so good at the Bank,
We indebted ourselves, yea rank after rank.
We loved our dear Banker, our faith never sank,
For he told us all true that solvency stank.
And we lived ever happily here and hereafter,
And never we doubted our dear overdrafter,
‘Cause debt gave us a motive both better and dafter,
For suspending ourselves with a noose from a rafter.