Your uncle had an old saying
“If you don’t vote, then you can’t complain”
Sizing up candidates, first Election Day
You thought, “I’m eighteen and have no opinion either way”

You had a lot of friends, but no peers
Could you imagine? This could drag on four more years!
If one day you had more peers than friends
It’s because your means had caught up with your ends

Jaws are wagging, “The one or the two?”
Eager to put John Hancock on the ‘who’s who’
Voting seemed almost like a disease
An Absolut a day, feeling ill-at-ease

You thought about becoming a cop
Any job with a helmet, in case of a drop
You did what anyone else would do in your place
You toyed with the idea of entering the race

Instead of living in your own filth
You had the nerve to think crop could spring from your till
You were called “Diva” by a protective young man
They still call you every name they can

It must be hard sometimes not to complain
But that’s the deal your uncle once explained
If not choosing was accepted as a trade
Not voting would be the smartest choice you’ve made