The City Mayor is called Sir Peter.

You pay him like a parking meter.

Did he declare that I'm not able,

To show my poems on a table?

If you're a business: "No Enforcement!"

Although your A-board blocks the pavement.

Your poems need not scan or rhyme.

"Just pay your rates to us on time."

And then the ghost of old Aunt Mabel,

Declared: "No Korans, on that table."

So, take a leaflet in your hand,

And ask aloud from where you stand:

"Please tell me where is fancy bred,

Or in the heart, or in the head?

And why our glorious chance was canned,

To hold infinity in our hand?

Do tell us when was freedom banned,

And who's the owner of this land?"

Two minutes magical short clip. Bob holding and moving a stack of cue cards.

External link.  YouTube #1

"I’m on the pavement,
Thinkin' 'bout the government.
...
...
Don't follow leaders,
Or watch the parkin' meters."

Short, about three minutes. Covers a classic from the Andrews Sisters.

"They made him blow a bugle for his Uncle Sam... He blows it eight to the bar!"

External link.  YouTube #2