I was once happy...
I was once happy, and carefree and young, and I lived in Aotearoa, under the sun.
Where nothing was perfect, but most got along, not all was right, and not all was wrong.
And then came a %$^&wit, who was better than thou, with a smart-alecky face and the brains of a cow.
And they said “You people are not living proper; your Dr Seuss books have to go in the chopper.”
“His books are all racist, and sexist and bad, if you read these books to your kids, well, you’re not a good Dad.”
And the gestational parents, who once were called Mum, had to dance to the beat of the tolerance drum.
And remove all the books and the toys from the past, in case the “Cancel Them” dog-whistle was blown with a blast.
But not all were banned, the Cat just made the cut, but only until he offends some dumb mutt.
And the Grinch packed his bags, admitted defeat, and sadly walked off down Mulberry Street.
And our world was much poorer, and so were our kids, cause stories depict the world as it is.
And the past isn’t perfect, but neither’s the present, how can history teach us if we ain’t allowed to hear it?
So I say to the lefties, the wokester’s, the flowers, and the academic minds in their ivory towers.
Who tell us the things we can and should say, what leaders to worship, to what Gods we must pray?
I’ll read Dr Seuss, his books are real good, my children loved them, like all children should.
So you can take your stupid ideological farce, and shove it up your enlightened, hypocritical arse.