A working-class song, “Lawyers, Guns And Money” pierces my mind like a mantra as I wander around a place known here in Georgia as “The Gold Dome.”
Everything around me is marble and exquisite, with the exception of the Romanesque D.C.-styled dome on top, which is gilded in gold leaf. Expensive suits are ubiquitous. Formalities are only surface-deep, and the money passes from corporation, to lobbying group, to lobbyist, and finally to the congressman’s election campaign quicker than an auctioneer like me can say all these words.
This swarm of money is designed to enshroud the legalities of big people screwing the little people. Forty-nine state legislatures have prostrated themselves to franchise dealer lobbies. The faces bow and the rears spew out the stink that is government-sanctioned, legalized theft.