The Democrat big tent seems big on the outside, but on the inside there is only room for cronies and hustlers and mountebanks, the aggrieved, the angry and the haters, the militant and the feminist and the Luddite, the grifter and the con man. There is no room anymore for the working man. The big tent is all three ring circus now, and the clowns are in charge of the country.

 

Across the waving field of grain

Outlined against an azure sky

A giant tent rose strong and plain

No signs or banners raised on high

But all who saw it knew quite well

That it was refuge from the storm

A mother’s arms when ill befell

A place of comfort, snug and warm

And so perhaps it once was so

Back in the day, before the One

Filled up the tent with friends of O

Till space for workers there was none

The promises that once were made

From lips and tongue that seemed sincere

Were seen to lose their shine and fade

And so as voting time draws near

The working men who once believed

The big tent was for them as well

Are now upset and much aggrieved

And angry as the pollsters tell

The story of the coming rout

The landslide Romney has in store

As working men who’ve been shut out

Stream to the polls and cry No More!