(To the tune of “Love Hurts” by Boudleaux Bryant, as recorded by Roy Orbison and the Everly Brothers or even Don McLean.)
It hurts, it pains.
When you reap gains.
To have to pay a tax.
Knowing that the tax.
Cuts into your wealth.
Lopping like an ax.
It hurts. It hurts.
It’s raw. It’s mean.
That Tax Machine.
Making you bereft.
Feeling so bereft.
When you pay a tax.
Feels more like a theft.
And it hurts. It hurts.
Some will get a wanderlust.
Move offshore. Form a trust.
Those with reasons always just.
But in the end they’ll pay.
No, you can’t escape.
The Taxman or your death.
You’ll be paying-up.
Until your final breath.
But it hurts. It hurts.