2006 Bozo Songs From The Forthcoming Release:
"Where's the Cash That Doesn't Cease?"

The 2005 Score: A Bozo Eve Song

It hasn't been a saving grace
But more or less a grave disgrace
We can but hope for the next phase
When greed is not our only face.

The race of Katerina's poor
Left out to rot in their own sewer
While Army Corps rebuild again
Twas their mistake, but now it's spin...

The mace of Iraq's insurgents
Says thanks, so is the orient
A kind of bazaar Taliban
Or one star win for old Iran?

The place of George W. Bush
Trying for one last desperate
Tax cut score, he separates
The rich from poor, so one is cush.

The brace of faith's next killing field
These Popes and Imams never yield
To anything like tolerance
Sharon, he says you build a fence.

The trace of what is left of me
Another year, I just can't see
Why writing notes of resolution
Is more than one more convolution
That won't float peace upon my sea.

(from the NY Times)

As Mr. Bush continued to defend the program in San Antonio, he was asked about a remark he made in Buffalo in 2004 at an appearance in support of the antiterrorism law known as the USA Patriot Act, where he discussed government wiretaps.

"Any time you hear the United States government talking about wiretap," Mr. Bush said in Buffalo, "a wiretap requires a court order."

He added: "Nothing has changed, by the way. When we're talking about chasing down terrorists, we're talking about getting a court order before we do so."

Democrats have seized on the remark, made more than two years after Mr. Bush authorized the N.S.A. to conduct wiretaps without warrants, in charging that the president had misled the public.

Asked about that charge on Sunday, Mr. Bush said: "I was talking about roving wiretaps, I believe, involved in the Patriot Act. This is different from the N.S.A. program."

A Grove Too Far: A Bozo Spying Song

Our Prez he built a Tower of Babel
Made fuzzy by Karling Black Label:

"I'd never spy, that's too abhorrent
I'd ask the judge to give a warrant
But don't expect an open fridge
It threatens exec privilege
So don't ask me: "Well, George, what gives?"

"Your Klondike melted in our sieves
At Don Young Way not far from Nome
All ice cream bars are free to roam
But not their calls to foreign homes".

The Year Begins With Shins: A Bozo Surveying Song

A meeting of the great and good
Will not solve anything
The killing still goes on and on
Denial comes in time for spring
Iraq is now far gone.

While in Abrahamoff's neighborhood
There's charity for all
The shilling of the tax cuts wan
New Orleans casts a silent pall
Rebuilt it seems for swans.

Sharon he lies where lies are stood
The man of peace, the murderer
The span now ceased, the herder or
The lamb, the deity, the fraud
Two brides, two bouquets, sons.

The cheating of the poorest blood
Is not a stem cell fraud
It starts with spies a thundering
It ends in pious lauds
Gold medals earned in blundering.

Our country is too drowned, it floods
In miners dead away in Sego
In Presidents too led by ego
Who say not much about our flaws
Whose way kills off this fifth-rate cause?

There is no shame, nor surely mettle
In playing games, in straying petals
Comes death with its vituperation
To cash out miscommunication
So fake a start again, again.

At The CESpool: A Bozo Static Song

Our digilifestyle's constant core:
Weighs in like rote Pat Robertson
Whose settler's God now smotes Sharon
Bill Gates, do say are your bugs for
Monopolies in fogs of war?

While Reps they bray: "I know the score
Do please reprise what makes me whore
My Abrahamoff's a write off or
My downfall won't make RIAA wan
This Windows Vista sure ain't on!"

On The Nominee Trail: A Bozo Mixing Song

Let's give Alito a fair shake
Although he's but a fifth-rate snake
We should not have his sort of nuisance
Condemned just like his jurisprudence.

"When I applied for every job
I did my best to please the yobs
I could have put my soul in hock
But Vietnam was my Yale lock."

It's what they call the rule of law
The Prez he saw Alito raw
As some red meat for fryin' states
Whose jungles host the best primates.

"You see when I was 35
Sandy Baby barely alive
The shrinks thought Ed Meese wasn't right
But me, I thought well he was might!"
So came a check and balance
Alito wanted to see
As one election valance
Of Supreme Presidency.

"Now I can't say just what I'll do
Opinions are a judgment too
Forever peace is how I view
Unless the Prez should spy on you."

A son of immigrants made it good
I guess Sam is this morning's glory
While in Manassas same old story
Depends upon the neighborhood.

"Who'll catch my meaning
Although demeaning
One man, one vote
Ipso connote?"

Some need an aide and hence this hearing
To sound out where the Dems will stand
Astride the fence like sheep for shearing?
Or screwing Party Old and Grand?

Follow The Tape: A Bozo Intelligence Song

bin Laden, wow is back again
Good morning! Stories off again
So let's replay for toffs again
What's next within the world of spin:

Inflation is well justified
Up go interest rates again
But wages, they ain't sanctified
They fall and fall and fall again.

While dinners in Waziristan
Are where the invites and the din
Are relatives of terror men
A small cheese to be fried again.

The spying, well it must go on
Fearful is our citizenry
Of who e-mails or calls again
We SOBs lack warranties.

"Do care about the way we seem
But not enough to fake it, deemed
Again reform's our way of life
It pays for trips, it pays the wife."

Roberts, he joined with Antonin
Again he says all women teens
Informed on, or become parents
"Long Dongs don't abort!", says Clarence.

Evil slate's the only winner
Of all the GWOTish holocaust
bin Laden saves one last sinner
To sell our souls like Bush our Faust.

The Spying Game: A Bozo Undercover Song

Intelligence, it works like this:
We hold these truths self-evident
We hold 'em 30 days
Then we announce with reverence
The eco terror's severance
No animal rights hold sway.

But not when there is anthrax
We just can't find which guy
Decided to kill off higher tax
I guess he was the vanished pax
Of Middle Eastern oily pie
The major goal of every spy.

bin Laden he still roams quite free
Not like our rights, we gave away
To Patriot Acts and NSA
They seemed just like some poetry
Recited by al-Zawahiri
To what became our poverty:

The sense that fear is all we have
To fight against the rule of chavs
The right-wing cause of Jesus says
We'll only die for better days
Like men who fight the terror wars
We arm both sides, we know what for:

The petro jobs that defense brings
The killing is an attached string
That we so grateful egg on vile
To land not in our coup de ville
It's just enough that we are swill
Our obese weight of endless bile.

So great is our intelligence
That we discard it for a while
To serve up pigs like Cheyney
To swerve the truth so grainy
To favor anything but truth
To savor how we kill our youth.

Our country is a land amiss.

Goodbye Shelley: A Bozo Memory Song

The wayward whale
He plays his games
But dies the same
As Balkan flames
In wars now gone
The siren song
Of miners' names
And never wrongs.

Rugova, I met him once
He seemed as old
As nonchalance
In Moscow they have
Prishtina saves
A Kosovo.
Round here, it's always novo.

In squares so hollow
A small boy runs
While his Dad speaks
Of bearer bonds
Manhattan childhood
Met Shelley Winters
Yesterdays I didn't follow
To climb up lesser peaks.

Phoning Home: A Bozo Fantasy Song

The NSA is not just hicks
My calls to Fort Meade are a trick
No scrutiny, it makes me sick,
And now they're part of politics.

Our Prez he wants to spy on us
So Qaeda might not lie to us
When they say: "Bring on Caliphate!"
In USA it is our fate.

Ben Franklin made it to GU
Yesterday, with students few
Who hardly vote
Whate'er they do
They'll pay off notes
When they come due.

Security and liberty
Are both quite dead
In my country
A coward's bed
Of states bright red to guarantee
The rich get theirs: a certainty.

So no one's head will roll today
To see NSA used
It's just enough to be amused
By what we never ever say:
"We are just how we're led".

The Week Of Kneeing: A Bozo Review Song

Hamas Hamas Hamas
Babe says it comes to pass
Another chance for peace to veto
They are the same as Sam Alito
Convinced of right as they grow older
Virgins reward each body colder
Today who will oppose 'em?

Spies Spies Spies
Babe says the sum of lies
Is all about the WMD
And fears for you, and fears for me
A cinch our might will make us bolder
Aspersions cast, a Roving molder
Betrayed by who will coze 'em?

Iran Iran Iran
Babe says they'll have us on
To bless a Russian job
A KGB high lob
So flinch we're glued by fodder
GIs now burn our solder
Gainsayed by who won't nose 'em?

Down Down Down
Babe says a half wit's crown
Perched high, an eagle's nest
Is not quite dugout polder
Our Berchtesgarden folder
Waylaid by who unfroze 'em?

Scheming The Next Game: A Bozo Analytical Song

Surprise Surprise Surprise
I can't believe my eyes
Hamas has got the win
Iran wants nukes again
I think my name's still Rice.

Surprise Surprise Surprise
I see that New Orleans
Has not yet quite come clean
So many trailers lean
Released to cut the price.

Surprise Surprise Surprise
The White House photos gone
And staffers who met on
Abramoff's tribal con:
Prez airbrushed in a trice.

Surprise Surprise Surprise
Iraq, well who can guess?
They voted to see less
Of Green Zone under stress
It don't look all that nice.

Surprise Surprise Surprise
The terror pays the bills
Of being rich men's shills
Such cynical cheap thrills
Should now be put on ice.

Post-Alitos, Pass The Doritos: A Bozo Rising Song

The filibuster failed of course
The Dems don't back a losing horse
But will they ever make a stand
Or just continue Hillary's pand?

Republicans will paint the picture
They get supposedly from Scripture
The Karl Rove kind, Jack's Jesus says
Mostly about which tribe now pays.

The problem is there are no leaders
Except the kind that focus groups
Anoint in lieu of weekly readers
Our country can but only stoop.

To conquer fear? Nope, here's the scoop:
The plans of Bush are manifest
In destinies, they're second best
America brays: "We shall not rest
Our GOP's a deadly soup".

So where the fogs of war now poop
Are bags with bodies; bottom feeders
Who tag along without recourse
They be the scum that rules this land
The sum: their schools evicted sure.

Bye Wendy, I'll Miss You: A Bozo Feminism Song

Might as well face it
We're addicted to oil
George Bush don't like to toil
So tax? Nope, we'll erase it.

The pax Americana boils
Against the terror slime
Like drugs, we pay to fight 'em
While our great thirst ignites 'em
The SUV's a hedging crime.

Oh boy, at 3 Mile Island
Our Prez will be a filin'
For the nuclear option
That's how Iran is captioned.

O Wendy, shall we be Heidi?
Among oily grandfathers
A song of Norway ever after
Or a Swiss roll no one can see?

Sands Of Profitless Toksvig: A Bozo Civilization Song

Well, I could blaspheme the Danes
Whose cheeses aren't too glam
They're ripoffs, like their ham
Cause more than Muslims pain.

I can't tell what is funny
A State Department who
Condemns cartoons as sunny
As Pentagonal shrews.

We see some worlds at war
Entre nous, unbelievers
I don't know what it's for
They all seem such deceivers:

"We want a kind of tolerance
That doesn't discuss truth
And if you like to perchance
Dismiss my views, forsooth
I'll kill you in God's trance
Your dance of death uncouth
My tactics make you blanch
Didactics flush down youth".

So write a few more jokes
And try to kill off anger
Some say religion's yoke
Is now the only danger
But I think like cowpokes
Upstaged by these Lone Rangers
We might be better folks
When we stop fearing strangers.

World Of Sacks, Whoa!: A Bozo Balancing Song

Stop the cartoon violence!
Babe says, "We are perchance
In fear of happenstance
A weary, wary trance."

I say, "Election year plans
Are all about terror days
We see askance what pays
'Neath a sidelong glance".

Babe says, "Popeye, the spinach!
Betty Boop, remove now our dupes
It sickens my stomach
Etats nous sant stupes!"

I say, "Free speech can't afford
The tax cuts or the words
We'll pass the buck
To our kids like shmucks!"

Well isn't it the same old story?
A fight for love, and whorin'
For our Prez, no kid gloves
His spies deny our love.

Blanching At Brokeback: A Bozo Hunting Song

Was it bullets or ballots
Bush's capital spent?
Was it gullible mallets
Made right-wing heads bent?

"A personal virtue
I kill, like recruits
There's no oil in songs
I drill caribous!"

We know debates
Are what goes wrong
When some just shoot
The side they're on:

"Get me S. Quentin Quail!
I'm a man in too deep
Scooter's now out on bail...

As a tough guy superior
An SOB's Veep
Huntin' Texan interior
A Katrina-like fate?
Pellets don't tell tales."

Hunting With Snails: A Bozo Largesse Song

Whittington, I am your Dick
Praying, yep, I'm not a prick
Saying, no, well that's too sick
Whittington, I am your Dick.

The buckshot doesn't stop with me
I'm angry 'coz the Dems don't see
Why we must fight so constantly
To capture no one, hath God wrought.

Moussaoui is my kind of style
Who won't forget this here show trial
It's not about admitting error
Or saving USA from terror.

But shooting up's a need:
The bloodstream coursing
O snood of greed!
The no bids I am now enforcing
Where once stood need
They're nowhere, I'm not caught!

Bye, Bye, Spy!: A Bozo Unibranchial Song

"We feel we're in a bind
When we say we want oversight
We mean of course a blind
Where spies and shooters hunt by right!"

"So we'll be sure to say
Surveillance isn't fair
Except when NSA
Keeps doing it! Who cares?"

"We could be Constance Bennett
To show just how to make up
In fact, we are the Senate
We glow at cash we rake up!"

"A Spector is haunting no one
A chair of forlorn swill
He might be mixed up, woebegone
Or shooting dead, like Phil".

Our country now is mostly dread
Once fear has gripped the free
So guzzling, we take the lead
And cower cowardly.

(from CNN)

The Pentagon chief said today's weapons of war included e-mail, Blackberries, instant messaging, digital cameras and Web logs, or blogs.

"Our enemies have skillfully adapted to fighting wars in today's media age, but ... our country has not adapted," Rumsfeld said.

"For the most part, the U.S. government still functions as a 'five and dime' store in an eBay world," Rumsfeld said, referring to old-fashioned U.S. retail stores and the online auction house respectively.

(from GME, with apologies to the Vogues)

Five And Dime Store World: A Bozo Scatology Pastiche Song

Up every mornin' just parlayin' with yobs
I gotta fight my way through these contractin' slobs
Sounds like self-pity poundin' in my brain
While another war goes down the drain...

But it's a five and dime world where Don Rummy blows
No one sensible gets his time
And there's an insurgency still inside his clothes
But W. thinks his world looks fine, yeah
Neoconnin', yeah...

Tradin' my tribe for the Jack I get
Livin' on money that they ain't spent yet
Gotta keep tellin' Dems don't be afraid
They must live for the end of these days.

Cause it's a five and dime world where Don Rummy grows
Like fungus or a petri dish slime
And there's a long-haired Dick who waits, I know
To shoot whatever he might find, yeah
Quayle is runnin', yeah.

In a budget full of arms everything's okay
No peace talks, world goes slippin' away
But Rummy knows the reason I can still go on
I'm workin' for the Pentagon...

In his five and dime world Arabs wait on me
Liberate? Don't matter at all!
'Cause every time Saddam smiled at our Rummy
He said: "AMT's worthwhile!", yeah
But I'm not gay, yeah...
Or sold on Ebay, yeah...

Outsourcing in Ten P&O Lines: A Bozo Don't Get It Song

"These ports are sold to Dubai!"
Our President, he's quite a guy!
He told of course of careful vetting
Security is not forgetting
That 95% of all containers
Go uninspected; Frist's DHS retainers
Are what we need, so see his brief
Retort: "Terrorists! We have teeth!
You will not kill off our beliefs
In politics we're resurrected!"

Dubai Meet Disney World: A Bozo Don't Get It Song

So now our Prez he has a deal
He must decide to sell the ports
He thinks Dubainiks are good sports
The Dems will shrink or make a meal.

Of what? Of being only against Bush
So brave, but where's the justice push
For health care or the end of war?
Oh no, this week it's stevedores!

Longshoremen wait for the next tender
They haven't won a bid to render
An x-ray that returns to sender
The death we ship on Iraq benders.

Oh well, Osama stays quite free
While most of us give up our rights
It's what they call maturity
To live these lies most every night.

The Taj Mahal Kashmir Sweater: A Bozo State Visit Song

Poll numbers are a no fly zone
Time travels to Jin-nah up fear
So why not cavil all alone
In hopes your end ain't nigh or near?

Our Prez goes off to India
To sign a deal he thinks is meaty
But does this steal offendi? Ja!
Or care if there's a Prolif Treaty?

Reactors help to build your bomb
Oppose or sign up? You'll be sure
To say: "Inspectors? And they'll comb?
Whoa, me and Ariel are pure!"

So now let's tote up who got what:
Our CIA gave nuclear
To Iran: oops! One gavotte bad...
While Pakistan waived scientists
To Pyongyang where they had a tryst
But George he had to disappear
Up in an orifice: "My Vlad!"

Mangy Along The Ganges: A Bozo State Visit Song

Let's sing a song: Hyderabad!
It's easy to remember
You see a plant that's nuclear
But whether it's civilian
Or military, that's unclear
But in this here election year
We'll arm 'em, arm 'em, arm 'em.

Sure, outsourced jobs go very near
Protectionists who threaten
But not the yobs old George holds dear
They'll cut his taxes out of fear
And never reckon wreckin'.

In Pakistan, it's Rashomon
Ghost views, they all abound
Pervez, you are again our guy
Democracy? Well, on the sly
But if you'll just do what we want
Dick says you'll be the best tyrant
Within Osama's huntin' ground.

Who cares what treaties say is right?
Some shares go up and overnight
The focus groups we'll charm 'em!
GWOT Spring? GM distemper:
What isn't wrong is mostly mad.

Red Carpet Dub Club: A Bozo Ceremonial Song

The Oscar statue ain't so great
Unless you get the nominate
Or sell again! Why wait to see
When birthday's column 2
IMDB says we knew you
Are ready to make hay
But you're now past it
Alas you might outlast it
While dying on this day.

Sparrin' For Bukharin: A Bozo Victory Song

The prosecutors decried:
"He lied and 3,000 died!"
And this is why Moussaoui
Who was in jail back then
Should die and die again!

Apparently he's vile
And so gets his show trial
While Presidents who lied
And bombed til thousands died
Are still allowed to smile.

We'd rather rub sores raw
That's closure, don't be shy
We torture and we spy!
But that's ok, come shock and awe
We'll simply change the law!

You see those terrorists
Are what keeps ours in power
The fear spreads every hour
With tears for those now missed
The deathwish never sours.

(from Reuters)

The CIA would have a hard time advising President George W. Bush on security threats if a judge forced it to provide material sought by a former vice presidential aide accused of perjury, the agency said in a court filing made public on Tuesday.

CIA officials would need up to nine months to dig up classified information sought by Lewis "Scooter" Libby as part of his defense against perjury charges, the CIA said.

"The job would divert their precious time and effort away from their primary task: preparing breaking intelligence for the president's immediate attention," CIA information review officer Marilyn Dorn wrote.

Scooter Needs Hooters: A Bozo Cleavage Song

In olden times our CIA
Was tasked to conquer the Commies
But now it seems they only dream
Of being Viceroy's Mommy:
"Who would not die saving Scooter?
Intelligence honey traps Fitz!
Or sends me the wayward shooter!"
So now what is that's left of it?

Who will now guess Iraq's dramas?
Or find the evil Osama?
Let's just not say what's going on
Listenin' posts not in Iran
Those parting gifts he's bound to lose?
Yep, one more leaker won't refuse
To spay: "Methinks our Porter Goss
Gets Oscar playing albatross
A headless man shovelin' dross."

The F Troop Swoop: A Bozo Security Song

We all remember shock and awe!
But what about the rule of law?
Was it brought down by bunker busters
Or did it just succumb like Custer?
When judges say, "You will not coach!"
In Gitmo Bay: "Let's force feed roach!"

Will someone one day tell our Prez
The Capitol's been moved from Fez?
"What we have here is a GWOT full!"
Said latest leak from Sitting Bull:
"This show trial dead ends for Moussaoui
TSA lawyers: all Hekawis!"

Wrapping Up The Crap's Enough: A Bozo Hip Hop Song

Hey, Saddam, what's the point?
It's victor's justice, surely
Ask Moussaoui who anoints
Briefed witnesses so carefree.

To the FDA let's appoint
Caretakers who will not be
Outside of the Jesus joint
They're all agin' that Plan B.

Commission is now a council
Who will get majority
To ignore Bolton's denouncals
All put upons are not free.

Here come the Israeli tanks
With your nod, a good removal
Of why no Arab thanks
You for ports disapproval.

My rap's gotten off the track
My country's got even worse
In Iraq there's just no lack
Of bullshit, or of the hearse.

When you're hittin' 33
Alas, not enough to scare 'em
So you'll a lame duck see
Jmac austism's sharedom.

The Third's Absurd: A Bozo Anniversary Song

Babe and I are party harmers
We today are Iraq's charmers
Meeting up with Oppy Swarmer
Sons not Poppy's still lack armor:

"Three years on, we haven't met
One less Sunni that can't get
Our lust for uni they won't pet
You see, while Shiites don't forget!"

"Babe, you're right, we have no words
Burning even are the Kurds
All in DC go forwards
Down the drain they follow turds!"

"Iran says let's have some talks!
Bolton's got his head on stalks!
Our Prez tries again with chalk!
Being cheese, he will not walk!"

"Babe, why do wars pull in so deep
The brains we have with mission creep?
But still they do, despite the flagons
We're stuck in our own Paddy wagon".

'Tho as a couple we are free
To hope for more of subsidy
But farmers not from Bush World know
It takes a lot of death to grow.

Sayin' What You Won't:  A Bozo Central Banking Song

"You see", said the new Bernanke:
"We must take in the global
It's not enough, this Pharisee
Shall be a bit less noble..."

"A fit of conscience is required
For deficits so long and tired
Explainin' global savings glut
This Bush is more or less a slut".

The Closing Arguments of Moussaoui: A Bozo Bukharin Song

If only he'd told us
Of terror plots on
Those 72 warnings
We'd act now upon
Or try to see flights
Not as cause of capons
Who lack the insight
Of being unsold thus
No end to the earnings
Untaxed, now we pack
Whimsy flimsy uncottons
We can't admit error
For to fall on the sword
Nor to pall with the sack
So we all shall be napalm
Quite as gassed as before
Frighten, strafe, and the psalms
Do not mention the war.

The Pastiches Of Hercules: A Dual Bozo Song

The Mighty Hercules

The Original:

Hercules, hero of song and story.
Hercules, winner of ancient glory.
Fighting for the right,
Fighting with his might,
With the strength of ten, ordinary men.

Hercules, people are safe when near him.
Hercules, only the evil fear him.
Softness in his eyes,
Iron in his thighs,
Virtue in his heart,
Fire in every part,
Of the Mighty Hercules.

The First Pastiche Of Hercules

G Bush! he? Hero so wrong, his story:
G Bush! he? Spinner so ancient, whore-y.
Alighting on the right,
WMD in sight?
With the strength of ten, neo-conning men!

G Bush! he? people unsafe when near him.
G Bush! he? those evil mostly shear him:
Softness: full of lies
Iron Age: his spies
FEMA's in his heart
Brownie plays the part
Of the mighty G Bush? See!!!

The Second Pastiche Of Hercules

Hercules, surely your back is breaking
Hercules, joints in your fingers aching
Pull the vines all day
Pull them all away
You were once a god, now you work a job.

Hercules, reward sits on your table
Hercules, drink it if you are able
With the thirst of five
Ordinary guys
Pour a beer for Hercules!

April in Paris (Harburg/Duke/GME): A Bozo Pastiche Song

We overthrew with charm the spring
We never liked CPEmbrace
We never knew our hearts could sing:
We never missed the volte face!

Till April in Paris, les nuts in blossom
Chirac under table ready to flee
April in Paris, this is a feeling
That makes M. Villepin sneeze...

We happy few who have a job
We won't retire until our place
Is passed along to student yobs
Who think that work is a disgrace!

Till April in Paris
Whom can we stun, who?
What have you done to my heart?

(Said Babe to Roger Maris)

25 Years Later, Reagan's Dead!: A Bozo Begone Song

Shark Toothless Cap the Knife's
Departed unmourned this life
Let's have one last soul kiss
Bye dead Nofziger's list!

Round the corner at 18th and T
Holly House, a domicile
Condo flipped, no, not my style
Shots, soused, gippered, no, I didn't learn
To pretend at war, or G-8 spurn
Or gilt Iran's newest snicker snee...

They're both now done, thankfully
But Ollie, by golly
Please still now this last charm
(Endearingly fascist harm)...

Blackburn, Holier Than How: A Bozo Visitation Song

A thousand little errors
Befit the war on terror
If what our Condoleeza says
Figuratively spending days
Alas, that's not what is wrong.

Immigration? So who will probe
Our Dobbsy's conflagration?
These racist xenophobes
We hope some small microbes
Shall see forever gone.

Nobody gets the USA
Unless of course they make it pay
Our country is a passive beast
Appeals to but the very least
The death march is our song.

Bugs Win: A Bozo Resignation Song

(Apologies to Lee Hays and Pete Seeger, but as Beryl Davis would sing: "It's a Hap, Hap, Happy Day")

If I was the Hammer
I'd take bribes in the morning
I'd take bribes in the evening
And not give a damn!
My Hammer's in danger
My Hammer's suborning
My Hammer's in jail,
Well, another Texas twister
All over glad hands!!!

If he had a cell
We'd stem it up forever
We's stem it up forever
All over with sand!!!
We'd stem up anger
We'd stem up boring
We'd stem up hatred from all these right wing blisters
All over this land.

If I had a song
I'd sing it to the judge
I'd sing "give him the max
And the back of your hand!"
I'd sing to strangers
I'd sing all morning
I'd sing out "Rock Piles" if I had my druthers
All over this land.

Well there was a hammer
Who got his own cell
Where he had no song to sing
But throughout this land:
There was at last justice
And a cell for greedom
And a song about love between my brothers and my sisters
All over this land.

Unseeing Through The Peeing: A Bozo Presidential Song

"I leak to discredit
Those reports I don't edit
No, no, not a precedent
Because I'm the President!

When one memo said planes
Would be flown into towers
I was spending my hours
Clearing brush on my range!

That Saddam was a snake
But he lacked yellow cake
So I gave him fake glory
In the al-Qaeda story!

When it comes to cheap fear
Dick and I hold quite dear
To the gist of a lie
Or if not, then we spy.

But that's all in the past
Iran's got to be gassed
So they won! Not so fast!
I am now bound to last!"

America Takes Control: A Bozo Duality Song

President Bush reconfigures his figure:

(at the ISA (Immigrant Savings Accounts) launch)

"You ask what do I think?"
Lo! Our President said,
"Once we just stay the course
We'll be better off dead
It's enough not to blink
At Iran or to force
'Em to see how we slink
Sippin' gas like cheap whores
But I'm not off my head
I'm a lame duck outsourced."

(at the Museum of Ethanol And Espionage)

Price gougers came to steal away
The secrets of the CIA
They found a station chief too willing
To swap leaks for a 2 tank filling
But Porter Goss he saved the day
By firing all who're in the way
Of prisons or of spin distilling:
"Protect the clown who tops the billing!"

Mum's The Anthem: A Bozo Multicultural Song

Nuestro Himno, Our Pres is Dim So

(Prologue: El Patron "The Decider" Visits The EPA

Sing the anthem? Oh we
Shall in English just be
Barely literate whales
In what's left of our seas.)

Dick Francisco Shot Ki!
Osama you'll not see
Yep, by now as scott free
As we all want to be.

Who can we hire to cut
Grass as nearly deeply
As the programs we gut
To fund all our wealthy?

Now in hock? What do we care?
Life is Chinese housewares
Giving proof to the lie
That our flag's not all shares.

So say will some manana
Roll over or still hide?
For the land that you see
Will not get a free ride.

The Terrorist Score: A Bozo Memory Song

Oh see how al-Zarqawi
Cannot quite fire a gun!
His aim's a bit like Cheyney's
But the death, well that still stuns.

Pentagon's need: a joker
Who won't say more or why
This Iraq war's at nowhere
I guess it's the lack of spies.

Oh well, at least Moussaoui
Now sent beyond the pale
His show trial simply how we
Fill fully SuperMax jails.

Osama still stays scot free
So too the anthrax guy
Failure alas will not be
In the Ninth Ward a surprise.

At The Rink: A Bozo Pastiche Song

Hayden, Hayden, I've been thinking
Reas'nable you will not be
Not exactly old Abe Lincoln
Sicks your spies on cue on me.

Darfur, Darfur, death's not shrinking
We can't say just what we know:
White boys will not save blacks stinkin'
Ain't lacrosse, they ain't on show.

Miners, miners, won't be sinkin'
Everywhere 'cept here at home
Where the urge to be fair dinkum
Is uncovered? Nope, it roams.

Probable, the cause is blinkin'
For a judge to say God bless
It's enough to be a pink in
Marriage states not yet a mess.

When a country says it's brinkin'
For the right to make a nuke
Presidents will now be seekin'
UN paper to polls juke.

Anyway, it's not like minks in
Freedom's wake their tails unfurled
Stray from cages for hijinks in
What we used to call the world.

There's A Small Rebel: A Bozo Pastiche Song

(apologies to Lorenz Hart and Richard Rogers and their There's A Small Hotel, which was trotted out in 3 different musicals: Jumbo, On Your Toes, and Pal Joey, see Connee Boswell's phrasing: http://www.gorillameek.com/pages/smahot.mp3)

There's a small tax cut
On which we won't dwell
Shouldn't we extend together?

There's a grandchild sweet
Who'll pay for our treat
Complete: he's borrowin' forever.

Looking through a week's polls
You can see that distant steeple
We malign people
But who wants people?

When the Gallup bell
says "You've not done well".
We'll be creeps in hell together.

Viva Las Vegas On Hayden's Cheap Gas!: A Bozo Spying Song

The axis of feeble
Alas never caught flies
Hayden turned to Knieval
To prop up failing spies:

Congress saw new horizons
But guess what? A surprise!
When they phoned up Verizon
NSA said, "You guys
Need the kind of refining
That comes free with most lies:
All of our data mining
Is your ethanol high".

Evil urged 'em to fly
Over Snake River Canyon:
"Upon the other side
Waits SBC's Race Bannon
Some might say he looks pink
But he's one of our best
Hell, he phoned up to fink
On the terrorist Qwest!"

But El Prez he denied
While in scurrilous search
That Ma Bell was offside
Nope, he found her in church:
"Our Lord told me these numbers
Sammy given would trim
Or Canadian lumber
I on your back should shim".

Immorality plays
Never shut down this axis
Or as Evel might say:
"They're what comes with cut taxes".

The Jape's Recorder: A Bozo Pastiche Song (with apologies to Al Stewart)

The polls go down, and only rich men can be hoarders
I even break the law within my hallowed borders
The NSA taps phones too loud
And Karl Rove ain't exactly proud
He turns my win into a loss most every quarter...

On my wall red colors of the maps are running
If only I knew just exactly where I'm done in
The right wing flares up in the night
And my tax cuts they don't seem right
And Medicare is screwed by every Part D order.

In the pillage Iraq blew up
Nothing seems the same
Still you'll never see me change from day to day
Why even Dick says he can't make it pay...

Late last night Bill Frist was knockin' at my window
I moved to grab my gun for his Schiavo show
I thought I saw along the street
The spirit of the rest of me
Telling us that Bonzo might not seal the border.

In the prep school where I grew up
Cap gains are the game
I never learned to feel the shame
Just burned to sell
But now Katrina's in the air, I don't feel well...

The polls go down, and only rich men can be hoarders
I even break the law within my hallowed borders
The NSA taps phones too loud
And Karl Rove ain't exactly proud
He turns my win into a loss most every quarter...

On the border
Bush disorder
On the border

30 Years In The Rinse Cycle: A Bozo Laundry Song

After 30 years, the FBI
May well find Hoffa,
But the anthrax guy's
An eternal mystery.

After 30 years, Dick Cheyney's hardon
Remains quite stuck in Nixon's pardon
It's not a pretty sight to see
Executive privilege clemency.

After 30 years, George Bush's drama
Was lost in ROTC Alabama
Proof: one less flight school war evadin'
Tabs a general goof whose name is Hayden.

After 30 years, this country's load
Rains cowpats of DaVinci Code
At lower heights we may well know
The smell of rights that never grow.

After 30 years, arriviste poor aliens
Closely encounter homo sapiens
Our racist howling, our prayer banshees
What we were and what we be.

Gasping, Not Grasping: A Bozo Wage Slave Song

In Harlan County, miners die
Therein my Dad was born
The methane is a kind of sty
It digs Bush lies with scorn
All of our dope is home grown crop
My Grandad ran the schools
But oxygen is for the chop
When rich men make the rules
Well there's a new day in Iraq
While we still play the fool
Box office is Da Vinci slop
The AG's torture flies
In spurning all forlorn.

Dreamers On: A Bozo Memory Song

And then there ended Freddie
Achin' without a care
The songs so sweet, not ready
In eras of the scare:

A government without a warrant
Spies on us without craft
But Congress is upset
Frothing o'er the freezer con
A judge approves, but for the vets
It's just not on, they lack the graft.

Osama says, "Moussaoui? Nope!"
But no one wonders why
We had a show trial for the guy
And found to our surprise
How we'd been played for dopes.

You were made for me!
Or so we thought of Bush
The chance to think again
So seldom taken, but the sin
Is why we never push.

A Vac, A Country Mile: A Bozo Seashore Song

You better not parry with flag
You better not marry a fag
You better not pray for hell
You better not say thou swell
You better not stay the course:
Of aimless days, of being whores
Of shameless ways, of death tax scores
Of famous lays, of AIDs encores
Of that now stayed, of what is sore
Of letters weighed, of shut down stores
Which left to come in riven lands
A fake checkpoint, a start
Stitched up in boasts of empty sand
Whose thirst slakes to anoint
Condemned, bereft, depart.

Bombs Away: A Bozo No Hoper Song

Zarqawi's scare is dead at last
The joy: he is no longer loose
The ploy: forgotten is his past
Not being there 'til we went in.

In phony wars security
Is what our leaders promise
But when they lack the surety
Then death stings like a kiss:

The tower's lies erected
Must now be misdirected
To justify our ventin'
Of hate, or reelect it:

The hate of all who are the other
The hate of true modernity
Is packaged with Islamic bother
To shift more Christianity.

Pipsqueaks of terror never end
No matter whose god kills
Shock troops must be around the bend
To murder for our shills
Or seek some just revenge.

Those Lazy Hazy Days Of Orwell: A Bozo Seasonal Song

(from BBC)

Colleen Graffy, U.S. deputy assistant secretary of state for public diplomacy, told the BBC World Service the suicides were a "good PR move to draw attention. It does sound that this is part of a strategy in that they don't value their own life and they certainly don't value ours and they use suicide bombings as a tactic to further their Jihadi cause," she said.

A jihadi demands a trial
Though many think him daffy
At Gitmo Bay his last denial
Is pr done by Graffy.

All-Greed: A Bozo Republican Pastiche Song (with apologies to Mary Dean and Cher)

My father bays against the Frist decrees
My mother's gay and ashamed is she
GOP says you're against the law
They're only white men we call "Panderin' Slaw"

All-greed, that's all they ever heard
All-greed, how I learned to hate the word
All-greed, they're no good I warned
They've been out to get us since the day they were born.

We never sold out for a capital gain
When you're a Dem, you only feel the pain.
George Bush's children always laughed at me:
"Give him the waterboardin' third degree!"

All-greed, that's Hestert's latest sword
All-greed, we'll never go forward
All-greed, they'll just be hoods we scorn
They've been out to get us since they day they were born.

We weren't accepted, and they had no shame
We should have left them, 'cause they're all to blame
Our lives right now are doin' all we can
To make damn sure they never come again.

All-greed, that's armor unsupplied
All-greed, that's science unapplied
All-greed, when fakirs need a boost
Freedom goes to hell and Jesus rules the roost.

All-greed, that's all they ever heard
All-greed, how I learned to hate the word
All-greed, they're no good I warned
They've been out to screw us since the day they were born.

The Caves Of Ratiocination: A Bozo Reactive Song


We want to be there bombing loud
Before there is a mushroom cloud
Ok, you're now still in a funk
From clanging sound of our slam dunk.


The boys of long-range WMD
In Kim Jong Il's dependency
They picked it up from Dr. Khan
Who sold it on for Pakistan.


Two boys are kidnapped in Iraq
They soldier for the cash we hock
To give away to rich men's sons
Or Chinese holding bearer bonds.


Iran must give up nuclear
It's just not fair tho' it is clear
They won our war against Saddam
If Bush annoyed, who gives a damn?


Not one gay marriage did unsheath a
Cover up we call Haditha
No burning flags now handed out
Will make a Frist in Rummy's snout.


When only lies are left to tell
The last one on the road to hell
Will favor every IED
So savor Karl Rove strategy.

Missile To The Moon, Alice: A Bozo Protection Song

Should the Hermit Kingdom sling
Our missile defense shall sing:

"Now wait a minute, Kim Jong-Il
You better not fire that rogue missile
Or we might shoot it down gladly!
But a tricky thing are these guns
When the test ain't the Pentagon's
Let's aim at the sky and hope madly!"

Poppy's Progeny: A Bozo Marriage Song

Babe and I we seem adrift
Breakin' down, transferrin' gifts
Avoidin' death tax, we can grift
To crackin' codes, we ain't too swift.

Babe thinks that the old anthrax guy
Would be in jail, but wonders why
The Casey rail is how our plans
Recoil from Iraq's Vietnam.

I say we better not touch it 'coz
The ending nigh of probable cause
Or what our spies now beat or sigh
While all are bent civilians die.

Osama roams quite free, Karzai
Is fed up with the apple pie
So warlords rule, the NATO plan
Is not our problem once again.

But Babe and I we fight to win
Our victory o'er Rove's last spin
Will bring us bliss as couples see
Their blessing wronged by tyranny.

The Destiny Of Badges: A Bozo Amnesty Song

The time long past for regal robes
But not for climes of xenophobes
Who are forever stuck in casts
Of skin color, of lower class.


The sliminess is all around
While terror never goes to ground
Fred C. Dobbs Of Middle Ages
Held In Lou Of Stinking Rages.



Of course we good could vote them out
But our own 'hood is one big snout
Cavorting at the selfish bar
In God We Trust, in time of war.

So proffered now al-Maliki:
"My aim to build by amnesty
The throes of our democracy
Shall last or face insurgency".



What ho! There is an amnesty
Tho' it don't work for you and me
So when our hate is all a-glee
We might just found a new country.

The Gain, Say Of Gitmo Bay: A Bozo Balancing Song

The cat who jailed the screams
Judged fast by the Supremes
Pussy fits, shock and awe
Sludgin' the rule of law.

Captain Swift won with codes
Not bankers' mother lodes
Nixon's heirs, in a snit
Vow more shoveled shit.

Back to the future of tribunals
After 2,500 funerals
Might we now see nonsense
At last free of past tense?

Willie, Won't He?: A Bozo World Cup Song

Zizou magician whiles away
Hours 'til we close Gitmo Bay
Sublime, contrition doesn't say
Why Brazil and Bush lost their way.

Silence Beholdin': A Bozo 4th Of July Song

Kenny Boy has popped his clogs
His heart went cold like Rockies bogs
His buddy George's war in fogs
Is mostly going to the dogs.

We do not smile when rich men sly
Protest not much as soldiers die
Lo! Wait a while for one last spy
To taepondong how many fly.

One Enron sample filled the need
To feign shock horror at the greed
Whatever's caught 'pon network feed
Gets trampled like a centipede.

Oh, say, you can see how we are:
The poor boy down, the poor boy star
The heritage of laws that bar
The outrage of outcomes too far.

Crisis, Nothing Arises: A Bozo Globalism Song

The multifronts of war ajar
Dead fruitflies now no longer spar
Or don't flutter quite like before
Stutter, shutter when asked for more.

Superpowers say let's wait
Bogged down, in debt, so what is fate?
The end phrase tortured, parsing late
Once a crown, once promoting hate.

All the world must surely think:
"We'll wait for W's ho heave
Our fate's better when he leaves"
My country purely drowns in drink.

Do The Hustle: A Bozo 8 By 9 Politics Song

Remit: encore the 70s
Schemes true once more to you and me
We'll tell our kids to c'est la vie
Beats lyin' that we are mighty.

Let's see: the bombs o'er Lebanon
Are yet again sine qua non
They do define our stinkin' toil
To pay the bills refined by oil.

Bespoil: what is our policy?
To bay against the groups Farsi
While roadside missiles destroy tanks
And no one recalls Tommy Franks.

Oh thanks: is this what we've become?
Shitloads of debt, don't add the sums
To bring together G-8 nations
De Lay? No, more like Ken-L-Rations.

Cessation: courses a-changin' now
November losses might anyhow
Seem far less rarer than the veto
Or justice or Slam Dunk's Alito.

Magneto: revs up stars and bars
To pile up Dems, tho' smaller cars
Get more mileage, vile tricks they're fixin'
To stay in power, unlike Nixon.

Kicking The Tyre With Stem Cells: A Bozo Multipolar Song

Babe and I are on the Love Boat
Setting sun sails low for Cyprus
While waiting hours to get afloat
The cedars burn as if by rote.

To find ourselves upon a list
Defined as being viperous
Because we deem a blastocyst
Is not much life as some insist.

When murders get well out of hand
The peace chance looks quite fiberous
We'd do a deal and give up land
To eat another desert band.

So flutters oily Middle East
A Middle West zeal for Tigris
Euphrates now the Kansan feast
Whose shutters soon become a beast.

On The Levant An Oscar: A Bozo Stand By Song

The tastiness of diplomats
In pulling out of endless vats
The quid pro quo they want to last
Whatever it is, or comes to pass...

Hezbollah fires off rocket flare
Then comes about Israeli glare
Uncle Sam: self-defense our care
Civilians dead as always are.

Cultures of life arise in heaps
Of more mass graves shovelin' deep
So when the saviours at last leap
A second later they'll be creeps.

The Decider's Ride: A Bozo Deja Vu Song

The Tour de France will seem a chance
For peace is fish on bikes, how nice
While somewhere in the Middle East
There arrives our Secretary Rice.

She hasn't much this time to offer
Her derailleur says wait a week
But at least we're spared Bolton leaks
The waterfall of empty poseurs.

Summertime's latest gavotte
Full of have nots only spurned
Unless somehow rich man's shot
Might be crushed grapes overturned.

"Terror, terror, terror, hear now my plea
Error, error, error, but not by me
Spare her, spare her, spare her, democracy
Bearer, bearer, bearer, discrepancy."

The hounds of Herzl's double brides
Found in bondage's elides
Swords are beaten, plowshares
Are eaten, while sighs are stares.

Beating The Clock: A Bozo Counting Song

Now who has time to transport girls
Across state lines? They're all Miss World
Fainting with immediacy
From one unwanted pregnancy.

Now who has time to export peace
Across state lines? We wait to cease
The terror clime of Middle East
By killing everyone, at least.

Now who has time to ask for a raise
Across state lines? The college phase
Alas no longer guarantees
Like tax cuts do for pharisees.

Now who has time to leave Iraq
Across state lines? The civil shock
Sends power out and fear again
Around the bend sectarian.

Now who has time to give a damn
Across state lines?  In Vietnam
A worn out welcome mat was burnt
On pyres of lessons never learnt.

The Luddite Rice Pudding: A Bozo Diplomacy Song

"I can't be bothered to stay on
I must now get to ASEAN
So I can say that cease fire's should
Await bombs in the neighborhood."

"Like Nero fiddlin' while in Rome
I just can't wait to get back home
Where everyone can't wait to find
A pregnant girl crossing state lines."

"So passing in a once proud sea
The neocons will rescue me
Or feed me to insurgency
Should I forsake their constancy.".

"If I could play the Polonaise
I might be seen in terror days
As one less token we must pay
To hop the turnstile, come what may".

Ablaze With Pascal: A Bozo Philosophy Song

So how many resolutions may
Wean us again off war today?
I think no one will turn the page
Until we raise the minimum wage.

Where might a lame duck land, do say
In this here grand theocracy?
While waiting for the coming second
We'll bury bodies not yet reckoned.

Elections, they go on, in sum
From one dickhead another comes
Hamas, Hezbollah, Shiite, Sunni
Democracies of George The Puny.

Although Levant is Oscar Meyer
Not kosher on the Qana fryer
My finger lickin' tuned iPod
Does not quite trust these lambs of God.

The Eight Figs Of Riggs: A Bozo Celebrity Song

So what has happened to mad max?
And what becomes of his passion?
He gets too drunk at bars, does Mel
And revs on down til cops Carmel
Suspect his car might be crashin'.

There cover ups are never lax
They brandish a lethal weapon
Against the parting girls, Gibson
Once in the whirl of Abe Foxman
Repays with mea culpa tax.

His Dad gave Mel philosophy
The kind that says the German Pope
Might very well hang from a rope
For being soft on heresy
The German Shepherd? Nein! Nor pax!

While now his agents keenly fax
To see Mel in a future scene
Of documentaries on Faust
Or on 12 steps, but holocausts
Were never banned by Joseph Breen.

The Joints Creak: A Bozo Military Song

When generals say civil war
Was not unexpected or likely
Once more attempt to lower the bar
As politicians do nightly.

Of course it's a bit confusing
To know whether or not we're losing
But uniforms institutional
Now warn and seem delusional:

They said sure, they had enough troops
Or at least said they not retired
But insurgency's still a scoop
And not one of them will be fired.

In fact quite a few got medals
For sicking their dogs on no hopers
But few if any got petals
For many they were interlopers.

So what did we learn from Vietnam?
Support the troops or their leaders' sham?
Retort or report the fighting man?
We sigh at old outcomes once again...

The Three Dump Train: A Bozo Metaphysical Song

Dumping one, Afghanistan
Where the shitty Taliban
Grows more heroin a lock
Now my NATO's on the clock


Dumping two, there is Iraq
Where the awe is in the shock
Of my generals' non plan
For this phase sectarian.


Where is Preparation H
To smooth over my disgrace?
When can I resume my role
As the C-in-C Asshole?

Dumping three, in Lebanon
Where my Christian AlAnon
Is the latest bombing farce
For a Rice cake left to parse.



All aboard the three dump train
Doctors measure only gain
Weight of wars that make me strain
'Til it all goes down the drain...

The First Phase Of The Last Phase: A Bozo Security Council Song

Oh my! There is a resolution
Although what for is a convolution
It's not as though a restitution
Might end the war on constitutions.

Because you see the terror grows
Wherever we attack, God knows
It's get out hacks,  November shows
A call my bluff, appalling woes.

Oh sigh, here is our rice again
She wants to wait til civilians
Are dead as dead can be, the spin
Is what we want the world to be.

A sort of global revolution
Wherein there is a devolution
Of power to the millionaires
The only ones ahead, their cares
Are softened by tax cut ablution
Until the rest vote them our shares.

And this is what our boys die for
The kind of selfish lies that more
Or less say well, you're dead in war
Our morals? Sold out to Bush whores.

Bye, Bye Lieberman: A Bozo Comeuppance Song

Before this week, they called me "Joe Mo"
Today all I hear is "Please, Joe Go"
It's tough as can be on a centrist man
Terry Schiavo's come alive again!

When the war in Iraq was in my purview
A thing I supported down to my sinews
I accepted the lies, but now what's amiss
Are my panderin' cheeks from that George Bush kiss.

Oh, I'm going independent, I won't have to beg
For a second chance at second in a state nutmeg
It's enough to seem a statesman when your bell does toll
Kinda like my C-in-C in his latest poll.

The Gels Aloft, The Spell Below: A Bozo Terror Song

The terror plots have struck anew
Although they fail, we seem to strew
Our freedoms and our liberties
To fight against what we don't see.

Is it too much to ask the gov
When will we separate the glove
From iron fists in lands of woe
To dire predicts that never show?

Scare mongering will not bring peace
Or save a President who ceased
To tell the truth, to spell out death
As what comes at the end of breath.

So all pretend the life to come
Beats hell out of our senses glum
For those who don't believe in God
These rest seem grimly stuck in sod.

The Paper Folding And Holding: A Bozo Ceasefire Song

Victory is mine, sayeth some lord
Put away the gels or you won't board
Another war we simply can't afford
Our politics don't cut the terror cord.

The music of an age: anthem to greed
The sycophantic rage: al-Qaeda need
The end of living wage: unplanted weed
Defending in our cage: a peacetime seed.

I stand outside and wonder at it all
From backwardness I'm screaming to appall
From watching too, another leader falls
On Reichenbach of some saviour's last calls.

The Naive Reign: A Bozo Royalty Song

Stay the course, oh stay the course
Obey God, hand me your purse
Or you'll end up in a hearse
Well you might ask what is worse?
Killed right here or over there?

When troops went into Iraq
Lacking garlands from the free
Nor a bit o' WMD
Still we couldn't up and pack
No bid contracts, get the knack?

Now it seems a sad quagmire
One big ever rising pyre
Whether in the Lebanon
Whether piss offs from Iran
And our dopes we never fire.

Psyche strained and stretched to grasp
His dear Echo's hands now clasped
By a waterboarding glove
Down to Gitmo with a shove
Will their terror at last lapse?

In our country's civil war
Death tax climbs? For those with more?
Don't show coffins, that's a bore
What were they a-fightin' for?
Slimes us all, but we are sore.

So there's not a vote to spare
For the President who spies
Or the President who lies
Daubs of purple never linger
We'll just give to him our finger!

The Cloudy Intellect: A Bozo Legionnaire's Song

Ernesto, not yet a hurricane
Katrina didn't vet no bid fees
Drowned out by Iraqi novocaine
Rummy blames everyone but not me.

I was a failed UN inspector
Who kept saying you've got it all wrong
Made me fall, a suicide vector
Made al-Sadr, an unknown, quite strong.

I was the Brazilian de Menzies
Who was spied on as I rode the bus
Our land was in terrorist frenzy
So they shot me, it made for less fuss.

I was a great fascist appeaser
Who forgot what was wrong with levees
All my tax cuts! Such a crowd pleaser!
Didn't help! Abu Gharaib wed me!

I suppose when the polls say you're done
They sure seem like a vast mystery
From Adolf, onward flowing to Don,
Coarsing past my ash heap history.

Another Friday Burial: A Bozo Reporting Song

The report always comes on a Friday
Just in time further lowers the bar
So it's drinks all around, shall we fight hey?
But don't call it a civil war.

Executions by the fifty may say
What are we doing there? Shall we stay?
But it's better our leaders do sway
Stick around, slick 'em up, make 'em pay.

When once we beat very bad guys
In a little less than four years
We now only want the tax cut lies
To so easily drown in our fears.

Grow the booklets and cowardly cringing
Tell us terror is such a great bore
It's a bit like mecuricrome whinging
As we slice every sigh evermore.

The Plan Has Been Amended: A Bozo Off Year Song

My caliphate of wisdom sees
A splendid fake Diogenes
Who seeks a bit of honesty
But lands in lands of heresy.

Hitler! Lenin! They're all the same
As any fifth-rate pols who game
Bin Laden fear has come before
To steer on voters as of yore.

They're all Jews! Christians! Islamists!
Where do we find the mill that grists
These finest grains of solopsists
To soothe the pains of masochists?

So welcome polls plurality
A sign of what morality
Is ready to vote on in war
Is steady, or if not, is sore.

Oblomovshchina: A Bozo Lazing Song

Who prefers a groin to knee?
Or excerpts joined NIE?
The signs say we are goin'
The bombers ain't T. Owens
Make our peace, an urge to flee.

The sharp dressed man of Kabul
Is here, but the surging cull
Of armies underpowered
Stymies leaders soured
Lame ducks can no longer pull.

Our ally Islamabad
Where votes not yet to be had
Might sweep us ops to gifts sweet
Victory, false charm camcad
Deserted tortured meet greet.

The Less Than Holy Foley: A Bozo Exploitation Song

So why are we against this grain?
Because there was a man called Crane
Who turned a page and went to bed
"But that was long ago!" some said.

So why are we against Iraq?
Because the evil in the dock
Was armed by us, or don't you know?
"Our former policy!" Ergo!

So why cannot we stay this course?
Because it merely seems far worse
Than even 'bama flyer's pay:
"Encore, encore Henry the K".

So why not just forget it all?
Because we voters aren't in thrall
To cowardice or tyrants' glee:
"Pray, let's resume democracy!"

The Poach Of The Wrestling Coach: A Bozo Cover Up Song

The way to end Bush spying games
Is sayin' terror's just the same
As playin' the bin Laden card
Or screwin' troops as they die hard.


The way it's been for many years
Is go to vote and drown in tears
But soon there ends the summing fears
Awaitin' for a house to steer.



A steerage of subpoenas proud
And freedom's once again too loud
For any Pres above the law
A lame duck skinned until quite raw.

The way of Jesus back to church
Will take our nation from this lurch
Wherein we make this life less glum
By being less of life to come.



Foley! A factor who might sway
Some right wing votes to stay away
Falling, ending all my rages
CC my thanks to the pages.

Post-Vietnam Postillion: A Bozo New Era Song

The general who this year said
"I shall reduce!" Our troops hoorayed
They're not on deadline or well paid
Just tortured by John Abizaid!

When I am thumped, there is contrition
From study groups I shall commission
To seek a course that will not stay
Bipartisan for one more day!

Thus Bolton, have another go
As Rummy's barn door gets to show
How goals and foals become impasses
In strategies of horses' asses.

So what we need to change our tune
Is out of Redmond, it's called Zune!
The iPod? Seems it is a blister
Which also does not sync with Vista.

Sty Ropes: A Bozo Pastiche Song

Next time Bush is found, with his head in the ground
He still hasn't learned to look around

Just what makes that al Sadr rant
Thinks he'll move Iraq to his slant
Anyone knows Mahdis can't
Move Iraq with a rant.

But he's got high hopes
He's got high hopes
He's got Bush set to push on his guy hopes

So any time you're gettin' low
'Stead of lettin' go
Just remember that rant
Oops there goes our latest victory slant!

When troubles call, and your back's to the wall
You could try to learn, or you just could fall

Once there was a rebuilding scam
Brought to you by Dick Cheyney's glam
No one could make that scam, glam
So Iraq just went blam!

But they had high hopes
They had high hopes
They had spies in the sky plus some lies hopes

So any time you're feelin' bad
'Stead of feelin' sad
Just remember that scam
Oops another war just like Vietnam!

All problems just a stayin' course
They'll be solved and worse
Hittin' fans and his Pop
Oops, there goes another Georgie kerplop!

In Hell This Noel: A Bozo Holiday Song

The climbers not upon Mount Hood
Are just as dead, some buzzards would
Redeem the deaths by Rummy purge
Withdrawing breath and backing surge.

The pearly Gates lands in Green Zone
Why learn by pickin' up the phone
To spies who guy polonium
In columns not colonium?

All listen to commanders tout
Tho' what they know without a doubt
Is to resign and set a date
Before the Hague says it's too late.

We brought this on ourselves
With wars not on the terrorists
With tax cuts and the Swift Boat list
A shamefulness that never delves.

Good bye to lame duck President
The worst since Nixon stays as bent
So ends the war torn Jesus cult
The life to come? It catapults.

The 2006 Score: A Bozo Eve Song

"I'm making progress!", our President said.
"Okay, while I'm thinking, many more will be dead,
But I'm working on strategy with the very best heads
So's to stay the course, win not lose not, to bed!"

When Jerry Ford gave Dick Nixon a pass
There were more than a few who said it was crass
But we must now behave, in a man's world a lass
Gets a tune from James Brown and a beating first class!

It's the way that we pander to the long gone and wrong
We'd rather meander than roll back the strong
So as New Year approaches, gainsay not loud the gong:
"No more fifth-rate cockroaches, make peace our new song!" 

(All Songs On This Web Page Are Copyright ©2005-2006,
Los Bozos Bravos, P.W. Meek, and Gorilla Meek Enterprises,
All Rights Reserved)

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