It's harvest season and I don't want any produce, but the taxmen are out and they're watching the alleys. Take care, comrades, 'tis a dangerous time when even the rails where you smoke a cigarette may not be safe. They'll want their cut of your stash, of course, and if you look a bit well off, they'll want money, and maybe they'll take you in even then. Even the old man with the pipe sitting on the edge of the pavement must pay, it's summer time you know, if it's hot they'll tax your ... tobacco . Greed, my dear friends, 'tis a horrible thing.
We aren't like them, of course. Sharing comes naturally to us, but sharing forced isn't sharing at all and sharing inequitably is synonymous with robbery, and 'tis the state that does it, or its enforcers anyway. They're as bad us anyway, except we're the nice black musicians in the car in Back to the Future and they're... them, thieves sanctioned by the government. How tragic. But then, c'est la vie.