Saturday morning tunes: Fortunate son

Dedicated to Mitt Romney, a man born to wealth and privilege who's never known a day since without it, a presidential candidate who's the son of a presidential candidate, a lucky lad who spent his draft age years during the Vietnam war in Paris, a one-percenter whose worth is somwhere in the eight nine figures, a constant candidate who bankrolls his repeated unsuccessful campaigns out of his own pocket, an office-seeker who declines to show his last year's anything beyond last year's tax returns until it won't matter although his father happily released six years of returns when he was a candidate, a vulture capitalist whose tax rate hovers somewhere between fifteen percent and zero, and a mechanized mountebank who claims to understand the rest of us because he's middle class.

Some folks are born silver spoon in hand,
Lord, don't they help themselves, oh.
But when the taxman comes to the door,
Lord, the house looks like a rummage sale, yes

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Bonus tune: For a GOP South Carolina primary twofer, go here.