We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
"Oh, help me in my weakness," I heard the drifter say, As they carried him from the courtroom And were taking him away. "My trip hasn't been a pleasant one And my time it isn't long, And I still do not know What it was that I've done wrong."
Well, the judge, he cast his robe aside, A tear came to his eye, "You fail to understand," he said, "Why must you even try?" Outside, the crowd was stirring, You could hear it from the door. Inside, the judge was stepping down, While the jury cried for more.
"Oh, stop that cursed jury," Cried the attendant and the nurse, "The trial was bad enough, But this is ten times worse." Just then a bolt of lightning Struck the courthouse out of shape, And while ev'rybody knelt to pray The drifter did escape.
"Drifter's Escape," from 1967's John Wesley Harding. A hard-rocking version from 1995 can be found here.