2009 Bozo Songs From The Forthcoming Release:
"Crises Don't Aim To Please"

The 2008 Score: A Bozo Ottava Rima Eve Song

We move along, disasters well in the past
Except for what has wiped out our wealth anew
The Middle East conundrum it seems too vast
And bound to last, like hatreds so often do.
A hope, Obama, tied to competence mast
But fearing grinding centrists will not stay true
To cast off mere becoming, to plant a seed
Of being for each other and ending greed.

Shift In Troops, Full Of Poops: A Bozo Villanelle Song

Our kleptocrats survive
To see off terror fright
Oh we're glad to be alive.

Ten thousands more will thrive
Not quite the Russians' might
Our kleptocrats survive.

In Talibanesque hive
The bees are second sight
Oh we're glad to be alive.

Now Harvard Law may strive
To be, in two terms light
Our kleptocrats survive.

When all the bands are five
The ranch sold off at night
Oh we're glad to be alive.

These wars seem mighty grim
And feckless logs we shim:
Our kleptocrats survive.
Oh we're glad to be alive.

For A Is Happy, B Is Not,  I Dare Say: A Bozo Semi-Ottava Rima Song

The records, once they're digitized, bring forth docs
Who stay in closed unions subsidized, but frocks
Inaugurate metastisized, we're in hock
To Chinese safety, well worn, so prized, no shock
Appoint Sanjay Gupta atomized, smells lock
Once around, lobotomized, now fierce, what shlock!
Will what passes for change be a madrigal?
In harmony, little need for radical?

This Will Not Stand, Or Just Might, In Sinking Sands: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

The culture of corruption makes me afraid
Of welcoming one Burris, I wait for lead:
Harry says it's ok now for Blago made
Of Illinois, no elegy against greed,
Like tombstones in a churchyard, whose crack does fade
Means hacks, foreclosed in Vegas, affirm their screed:
To win one more election is how one clown
Of focus group erection sees it go down.

At The Inauguration Station, First Class: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

The train takes 9 hours, at last it arrives
Transporting the future, living on what is past
Banking on bowers, ranking the nests of hives
Stung by suture, rung in changes, ever vast
One man's Amtrak powers, meant to staunch post-knives
End the torture, or not, who knows what will last?
I'll have chicken salad, born of subsidy
Or sing one more ballad, scorning perfidy.

Left At The Inauguration: A Bozo Villanelle Song

Inclusion is a two way street.
Wherein roads that never travel
Do not try hard sometimes to meet.

Preach to masses, but do not seat
A cant little more than cavil
Inclusion is a two way street.

When doubtless bigots smile and greet.
To build their Tower of Babel
Do not try hard sometimes to meet.

Old time hatred, what they repeat.
Charging up with fear the rabble
Inclusion is a two way street.

Forgive? Forget? Just bitter heat.
While all return to hardscrabble
Do not try hard sometimes to meet.

Anger, stoking fire that holds their feet!
Not paved over with cheap gravel,
Inclusion is a two way street
Do not try hard sometimes to meet.

Who Cares What Cooper Say? In The End He Sways: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

Spanning the globe, but not quite adding the sums.
They decide to vote no, as though it matters
To sanctify how we're in hock, blaming slums
Who aren't buying enough, so all in tatters.
Adoring what's left of our bankers, whose gums
Get cleaned out bonus, from government batters.
Why not a cliff diver? Or fenced in, a pidge?
Lemmings fly! Alcapulco still needs a bridge. 

On Side, On Hope, Still Waiting For Now Fiercely: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

Bravery comes when those in power disdain
What paid for their passage, a triangle trade
To end what seems like a permanent campaign
Of sticky morasses, of who's not been paid
Of sugary compromise, of this week's gain
Masses don't get by on bullshit gatorade.
So what is election, if not to make change?
Obama bipartisan? Passing quite strange. 

Why Bother To Beg, Just Become A Judd Gregg: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

I'll give up my seat if the next shall oppose
Those bloody tax cheats, or the POTUS I serve
In DC these days, it's bipartisan hose
That stimulates a digitized Phillips curve
Where bankers don't worry, about deze Dems doze
Why be in a hurry? The TARP's set on swerve
Campaigns that are permanent seldom do last
Our leader's firmament: dead set on the past.

Benedictine Era: Errors Don't Matter: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

Obama is a faith-based initiative
Awaiting Republicans to come on side
They won't of course, but to be seen to forgive
Is what passes for leadership, or for snide.
The economy meanwhile tanks, and we live
In a kind of vacuum that all can deride.
This won't last forever, but then no one does
So parties pretend, suffocating with fuzz.

Moving Beyond The Battle Of The Day: A Bozo Pastiche Song

Nothing's bipartisan I have found
So when Judd Gregg he goes to ground
You pick yourself up, bust him in chops, start all over again!

Don't lose your confidence if Dems slip
Be grateful for Pelosi's grip
Then pick yourself up, give banks to cops, start all over again!

Work as if you're elected, till this fifth-rate greed is gone
You may be sick and tired of Republicans my son!
Don't you remember Abe Lincoln's plan?
Just say: "Well, fuck 'em!" coz you can
Then pick yourself up, pull out all stops, start all over again!

Three Legs To A Stool, Whose Culture Will Be Cruel: A Bozo One More Than Ottava Rima Song

What does the future hold for Hummer Of Caffeine?
A marketing of instant, or just what it seems?
Appeals to what we think we are, or what we've been
One nation full of debtors, losing bubble dreams.
Our leaders pass parcels, our lenders cannot glean
A way to make things right, to benefit from schemes.
All rhyming context wrong, at sea among themselves
Thus foreclosure happens, denial now in twelves.

Exploiting The Kids, Not Examining Ids: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

There are many dead children, what should we say?
The pictures make us human, but policies
May get us to election, grief comes what may.
We bomb because we can, our banks set on sleeze
Of rhetoric, we think will transform this day
Into one last triumph of poll driven squeeze.
One dead little Tory, one stillborn Labour
Makes us seem less whorey, more like a neighbour.

GOP Remains In Hock To Penury: A Bozo Semi-Ottava Rima Song

Gathering at the river, without a doubt
Baptismal lovers of oxy contin lout
Zeig heils under cover, purely white man's pout
Surely lacking liver, living here about
A free market giver, brown nosing snout
A hip hop nigger, a man called Steele called out.
What's left to figure, salad days sauerkraut:
Whose closet is bigger? Who'll pay for the rout?

A Week When Make Believing Led The Grieving: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

As the drugs come over the border, we shrink
As the banks in sum one great hoarder, we think
As the fugs drum up our disorder, we stink
As no thanks for fee songs recorder, we slink
As the shrugs no further forwarder, we blink
As the tanks of one tower warder, we drink
What's left of economy, or holy rood
The heft of gastronomy does us no good.

The Citi Never Sleeps, Our Creeps Love Pity: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

We can now, having bankrupted the country
Decide what's corrupted, and heave ho the banks
Combat fatigues, what you'd call being sincere
In case you don't prey, or aren't ready for thanks
Our fruit hanging low, erecting the fun tree
Of Jindal, or Rush, but not saying we're cranks
Spears stuck in bush leagues, and already dying
Download to kindles, read torture, dead crying.

While Rotten At Core, We Forget Days Of Yore: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

Here come the Bonus Marchers to be shot down
By what passes for leadership in this age
Senators who blaspheme, like Schumer The Clown
Remain ever ready to pander to rage.
Preaching in Africa, a no condom frown
Would rather bring death from the biblical page.
What isn't quite clear is just how we get out
From these still bisected by one rich man's snout.

The Bluff Of Obama, Now Well Past Trauma: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

Thirty years later, Jimmy Carter returns
As smart as a pistol, but not good at yearns
The bankers he hates, but he never quite spurns
They're here just to save us, or him from the gurns
Of permanent campaigns, their twists and their turns
Lacking a leader to staunch third degree burns
We want a President who acts and who seems
More than one spent token of MLK dreams.

We Disclose On Fridays, Lame Exxon Tankers: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

Afghanistan: our strategy is the same.
Empire receding, lashing out at bankers.
Not exactly fate, playing Cold War's great game.
We chase tails and al Qaeda's fifth-rate wankers.
Slaying fails, less greedy's not taken, a shame!
Our veg patch organic, so thanks be to her
Cliff diving once more not replaced by quick death
Politics awaits, a whore's decent last breath.

G-20's A Summit, Dadgummit: A Bozo Pastiche Song (with apologies to George and Ira Gershwin)

Weimar, Weimar,
Skies are gray
But when you spend some more
All the clouds'll roll away

Weimar, Weimar, don't delay
G-20's company
And the clouds'll roll away.

See how your exports are shuttin' down
Let's avoid the shirts
Of Ernst so brown

Oh, Weimar, Weimar
Name the day
When deficits you see
But the clouds won't roll away


Press Conference, Press Forward, Press Rants, Press Pants: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

G-20 summiteers end as they began
Trying to stay in power, that's what matters
So draft communiques to extend life span
Of consuming, of resuming, of tatters
Where once we seemed quite ready for yes we can
A hint of despair and 401(k) splatters
Conspire to make us pure, sure abhoring greed
Denial our theme, one day to regain speed.

The Grand Tour, The Dour, And The Old Man Of Storr: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song
The guns of April are not guns of August
But the crisis response makes it seem that way
Our leaders stand by as many more go bust
They can't bear to face how two Novembers sway
Throwing off the old guard, and lacking in trust
The status quo ante remains how they play
So should we not ceaselessly be up in arms?
Is this what is meant by endearing young charms?

The Chicks That I Like Are Rich, Splendid And Stall: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

We must pay them what they're worth and that ain't much
They'll help us like FEMA to rebuild our land
These bankers' salaries aren't exactly such
But formaldehyde don't pay a billion grand
We head to endless Summers of softest touch
To make our stress tests the latest birds in hand
Dishonesty's what comes when promises sleep
Inside the Wall Street womb, and without a peep.

Loan Pay Day, A Country Far Away: A Bozo 9x9 Song

There's a game that they call stress testing
Aims to keep up the market cresting
While the bankers' sweet TARP Fed breasting
Makes quite sure their pensions are vesting.

Our President says there are glimmers
He's trying to beat back the trimmers
Whose anger stays well beyond simmers
Their lifeboats have run out of swimmers.

The billionaires love their tea parties
Where bags and looters and smarties
Get Fox News to cover rich hearties
CNN is covered in farties.

The point is that nothing much matters
Whether pirates, or more gun splatters
We like our denial in batters
That warm to the maddest of hatters.

How The OLC Means Test Is How We Are Not Yet Free: A Bozo Villanelle Song

Torture and scott free, we say
Is how the past is written
And impunity will stay.

Insects shall go on their way
But no one here is bitten
Torture and scott free, we say.

Faking drowning makes for pay
So long as you are sittin'
And impunity will stay.

Fifth-rate lawyers get to sway
Disagree, you won't fit in
Torture and scott free, we say.

And the habeas we'll flay
Like judges who are wittin'
And impunity shall stay.

Shall the end of this our day
Of rights at best a flittin'?
Torture and scott free, we say
And impunity will stay.

By Dint, We're All In Flint: A Bozo Pastiche Song (with apologies to John Wilkin)

Little GM now, you're not looking real fine
Three reduces and a bond spread makes a haircut sublime
TARP is tachin up now, listen as they all why-ee-eye-ine
C'mon and say goodbye, wind it up, bye, bye, Little GM go!

Wa-wa (little GM go!) Wa-Wa (little GM go!)

You ought to see her down on Wall Street, with her shorts for miles
This latest toy of Sammy's got plenty of style
She doesn't need the bankers, really drives 'em why-ee-eye-ild

Wa-wa, etc. etc. etc.

Gonna save all our money (all that is left, not much to heft) and give GM a no (all that is left, not much to heft)
Get a broker and a bonus (all this left, not much to heft), and eat more crow (all that is left, not much to heft)
Take it out, like Pomona, where foreclosures go, yeah, yeah
To seem the coolest thing around
And Ben won't bring me to ground
When I say goodbye, wind it up, bye, bye, Little GM go!

Wa-wa, etc. etc. etc.

The CDS Swap, Goes Right On Without Cop: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

What I want is a lesbian, black or brown,
Or any gay man who'd like to get married
I'm guessing Obama will avoid renown
And pick someone safe who will not be tarried
Cap and trade remains blessed in Chicago gown
Except when banksters' green is being harried
The change I believe in isn't what we'll see
While paying both sides of Detroit's bankruptcies.

A Sure Tim Geithner Bursts, Gets Picked Off From First: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

The test of stress is mostly what bankers guess.
In models, they can't see prices going down.
But bonuses must remain not one cent less
Or models will not be hired to beat the frown.
President Obama says he won't confess
Not under torture, nor yield state secrets crown.
When will we decide at last that what's amiss
Is how we choose to live, and not who we kiss?

Who Wins? All Out, All In: A Bozo Villanelle Song

The big boys are on board
Although they won't say how
It's time to cut the cord.

They seem just like one Ford.
No borrow and no bow.
The big boys are on board.

But whose oxen are gored?
And who will treat the cow?
It's time to cut the cord.

The IT savings poured.
The status quo of now.
The big boys are on board.

With CBO not scored?
Or is it speed the plow?
It's time to cut the cord.

The uninsured are bored.
All covered not a vow.
The big boys are on board.
It's time to cut the cord.

Mr. O, Just So You Know: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

So today I bade farewell to Mr. O.
Easily mocked, as my teachers often were.
He taught us gym, a place I hated to go.
Always made our pushups snarl at him, the cur,
But flickered there a smile underneath the show
A glint in the eye that said he'd rather purr.
When faced with death, we seem to revert to knee
Or bake one old coach's pizza recipe.

Miles Of Aisles, But Not One Trial: A Bozo Remembrance 10 x 8 Song

We were fucked before in '74
And once again in '82
Today? Well, it all seems like days of yore
Waitin' for the very next screw.

I see that Obama's tribunal man
No pictures, please, they would be wrong
Where does this all end for go forward clan?
They are singing the same old song.

Suppose we could be more than one cheap whore,
Would it mean at last we are right?
Or is our expedience how the score
Remains kept in the land of might?

Alas, it's not whether it's yes, I can
Sammy Davis got that old gong
Sportin' Life's a waywardish torture fan
Who is doing no more than what he can
To appease not weak but the strong.

Give Them No Funds, Prison Breaks Are The New Bunds!: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

In Yucca Flats fearful stately domes decreed
This could not stand, and so they cut off the cash
Far better to be seen as a friend of greed
Than bringing forth to trial those who used the lash
It's how a bill becomes law, or how a screed
Is used to justify one cowardly flash.
The problem for those of us who're not quite sure
Is how our nation was as slush driven pure.

Sotamayor, The Last Ended Era: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

Sonya is as Sonya does, and that's what gores
It's worse than losing twice, or not watching gays
Southland sees no arising to even scores
With all out of work, no morality plays
Or trying to be nice, anger's for the cores.
So it will not be Bork, or more Rush affrays.
A chance to rise above is beyond the ken
Of neo Father Coughlins of spent white men.

The Culture Of Life Ends In Death: A Bozo Villanelle Song

Killing abortion doctors is our sport
Easy expiation but not of sin
Until we achieve a judgment in court.

Without a CDS, we're selling short
And watching our President give us spin.
Killing abortion doctors is our sport.

Sotamayor is a Latina tort
Who nudge, nudge, wink, wink, evokes a white grin
Until we achieve a judgment in court.

Guantanamo is the Alamo fort
Where Davy died, and GM was all fin
Killing abortion doctors is our sport.

Wingnuts are a curious empty sort
Who don't see why women should ever win
Until we achieve a judgment in court.

Babies who live, we don't care if they mort
Racism is not quite how we begin
Killing abortion doctors is our sport.
Until we achieve a judgment in court.

Travels, Havels, Nothing More Til Unravels: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

The President sits shiva at Buchenwald
Following Cairo speech, made the settlers rant
Shouts out to Elie Wiesel, post-Madoff scald
Whatever came to pass is just soi disant
Like single payer systems who are blackballed
It's more or less oh well, so I guess we can't
Although pictures and words remain our coign
Of vantage, or love, or of kicks in the groin.

Steve Tells Me The Reeves Who Believe Sink Or Swim: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

Today technology allowed me to pass by.
No frisson of energy felt from Apple.
Phone calls I no longer make, and I ask why
Cheapish data plans are not mine to grapple
To bring adopters down, or to touch the sky
Forward no address, post-50 scrapple.
Passing 8 tracks, tapes, and video it seems
My life is now a wake of non-profit dreams.

Amanpour Hot Sheet, Not A Chance, Just Defeat: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

In Iran, elections are not free and fair
In Israel, natural is a construct
In Pyonyang, nukes are now open to scare
In Congress, single payer's more or less fucked
In Europe, no exports are Bundesbank fare
In all, we can't see, but in glee self-destruct
Our spinning world still unaccording to plan
How noses are curled, wondering what to ban.

No More Closings At The Barn Door Of Hate: A Bozo Villanelle Song

We can be hypocrites about Iran
Or say we cannot solve the health care mess
Limits are still to come for yes we can.

Mousavi is revolutionary man
Who happily contrived to kill for less
We can be hypocrites about Iran.

Calculate effectively one life span
Assured or uninsured, or stuck on stress
Limits are still to come for yes we can.

Nuclear options? Well, we go for ban
Not yet inspecting single payer guess
We can be hypocrites about Iran.

The closed shop union is hardly a fan
Of green, of shoots, of mullahs who confess
Limits are still to come for yes we can.

Is what we want to be reduced to sauce?
Or DOMA'd partnerships against stop loss?
We can be hypocrites about Iran
Limits are still to come for yes we can.

Sunni Late Payments Are The New MBS: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

The King of Pop is dead, and I still don't care
Farrah's gone, but my right hand remains quite strong
Getting older is ahead of what may scare
Health care cons, and a country going wrong
Nothing bolder left than rhetoric to spare
Sons and daughters dying, this decade's Hmong
72 hours of nostalgic craze
For what we once were, or villages to raze.

Palin In The Sheeves: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

In Anchorage focussing on yes we can
There is a sense of fleeing before we must
Acknowledge what we did, like a Sanford wan
Or not, let’s run!, Jesus told me there’s no lust
When a daughter’s baby says well, no we can
Be what you think you are, candidate of bust
There is very little to observe this day
Of curvy piffle, or less than what most say.

Meanwhile, In Another World Not Quite Aung San: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

Uighurs won’t be visited by Ban Ki Moon
Uighurs won’t be going to the Olympic Games
Uighurs won’t be asked to carry a tune
Uighurs won’t be getting anything but flames
Uighurs won’t be roaming free anytime soon
Uighurs won’t be at sea or bought off with damesThe Bauhaus Cause, The Boho Dance, The Reform: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

Uighurs you see are not yet UN delights
Uighurs you see are killed, just like human rights.

Sausages Are The Rock Of Ages, Bereft: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

This health care debate is not leading to much.
Oxen angry are straying, they won't be gored.
Blue Dogs and bipartisan are not as such
Remains of fixed braying, while CBO's scored
When wrong, it's far too late, when right, it's a crutch
Our leaders are saying: "We're all not on board!"
Reminded Gorilla, whose memory's long
Of what came once before: lyrics without song.

On The Radio Is The Past We Don’t Know: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

Whenever I hear the new Father Coughlin
Say, remind me of what he came to stand for
The priestly anger, the telegraphed coughin’
At Jews and The Other who weren’t at the core
Of what had been lost, ’round our health care coffin
Is how they make fear seem yummy and score
Today, unremembered is how far we’ve come
Or have left to go, to unstick hate, by gum!

Spinning The Roundabout To Arrive Somewhat Here: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

Inquire, Inquire, Inquire but never let slip
How what no one would ask then demeaned us all. 
Soon the public option terror triggers grip
At polls, these pols are sated to take a fall
They demonstrate past prologue in losing trips
Up those whose change and hope seems hard to recall.
We'd like to be less hollowed out, but that would mean
Confronting now and then our last mise-en-scene.

The Bauhaus Cause, The Boho Dance, The Reform: A Bozo Ottava Rima Song

Fucking women makes the public option whole.
Misogyny's after all a vote getter!
Chucking the condoms awakens a male soul
To be a prince, where once was a bed wetter
His Gal Nominee for prosecutor role
She gets paid less, like a Lily Ledbetter.
Conferencing point remains to keep 'em down
More or less the plaything of a Senate clown.

The 2009 Score: A Bozo Ottava Rima Eve Song

The best of this year was a journey to Oz
Where grownups reside and advise without spin
How best to make due with subordinate clause
And go beyond shit to where pearls aren't a sin
Yet death slapped down two, who deserved some applause
From those on the sidelines, an army all in.
What peers in the wind is the sight of our times
Remaining in view, and remembered in rhymes.

(All Songs On This Web Page Are Copyright ©2008-2009,
Los Bozos Bravos, P.W. Meek, and Gorilla Meek Enterprises,
All Rights Reserved)

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