I know a very tiresome Man 
Who keeps on saying, "Social Plan." 
At every Dinner, every Talk 
Where Men foregather, eat or walk, 
No matter where, -- this Awful Man 
Brings on his goddam Social Plan. 

The Fall in Wheat, the Rise in Bread, 
The social Breakers dead ahead, 
The Economic Paradox 
That drives the Nation on the rocks, 
The Wheels that false Abundance clogs -- 
And frightens us from raising Hogs, -- 
This dreary field, the Gloomy Man 
Surveys and hiccoughs, Social Plan. 

Till simpler Men begin to find 
His croaking aggravates their mind, 
And makes them anxious to avoid 
All mention of the Unemployed, 
And leads them even to abhor 
The People called Deserving Poor. 
For me, my sympathies now pass 
To the poor Plutocratic Class. 
The Crowd that now appeals to me 
Is what he calls the Bourgeoisie. 

So I have got a Social Plan 
To take him by the Neck, 
And lock him in a Luggage van 
And tie on it a check, 
Marked MOSCOW VIA TURKESTAN, 
Now, how's that for a Social Plan?