French economist and bestselling author Thomas Picketty proposes that the wealth of the Western world be redistributed to the Third World through a progressive global tax on wealth.

General Piketty looked steadily across the field, studying the silent mass of blue atop the hill, flags limp in the summer heat, his fine regiment of Virginians awaiting his word. “We can’t ask men to storm them heights, General,” an aide cried. “They ain’t been paid in three months. Where do we get the money?” “A tax!” General Piketty thundered, and the Virginians started across the field, into the as yet silent guns.

Why pick on Mr. Piketty
That’s just much too persnickety
Just leave the man alone
He thinks that’s not my bank account
It’s his to take whate’er amount
Up to what all I own
He hates the rich and loves the poor
And so he’ll even up the score
The seeds already sown
Us workers had it up to here
And guys like him have much to fear
That bird’s already flown