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“A Way Forward?” To Where, Exactly, Mad Kane
Iraq’s current state is abysmal,With its prospects of peace rather dismal.
Dubya started this war,
Yielding blood, sweat and gore,
And success odds quite infinitesimal..
By The Baker Boys: Wouldn't It Be Nice, the Beach Boys, with Jerry Politex
Wouldn't it be nice if Iraq tott'ringCould rub an Aladdin’s lamp
And wouldn't it be nice they stopped the killing
To shore up the puppet from collapse
You know that'd make it so much better
When we can say goodby to stormy weather
Wouldn't it be nice if Iran sat down
To create a strong Iraq for Bush
And wouldn't it be nice we live together
In the kind of world where all belong
You know its gonna make it that much better
When we can say goodnight and stay together
Wouldn't it be nice if Syr'ya joined talks
To prop up the Sunnis in Iraq
And after having spent the day together
Hold each other close the whole night through
Their happy times together spending
I wish that every kiss was never ending
Oh Wouldn't it be nice
Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray it might come true
Baby then there wouldn't be a single thing we couldn't do
We could pump oil (we could pump oil)
And then we'd be happy (then we'd be happy)
Wouldn't it be nice (bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla)
You know it seems the more we talk about it
It only makes it worse to live without it
But lets talk about it
Oh, wouldn't it be nice
--thanks to Matthew Parris
Foreign Policy: Baby Bush and The Baker Man, Jerry Politex
Pattycake, Pattycake, I'm the Baker man,I can fix Iraq like nobody can;
I'll cut it, mix it, mark it with a W,
Spin it to our media so it won't trouble you;
Served up to Baby Bush at his next sup,
I stand near his highchair as he throws it up.
Send Up The Clowns
War Makes them rich,
Aren't they a pair?
Bush here at last on the ground,
Dick full of hot air.
They are the clowns.
They serve death with their kiss,
Who would approve?
Bush who keeps tearing around,
Dick who can't move.
Iraq made them clowns.
Send up the clowns.
Just when we'd stopped opening their doors,
Knowing those two who wanted to "win"
Were war whores,
Making their entrances again with their usual lies,
Sure of their spin,
We just roll our eyes.
"Don't you love death," they ask
"There's nothing to fear."
They said that we'd want what they want.
Sorry, my dears.
You two are clowns.
Quick, impeach the clowns.
They need to feel fear.
Making friends rich,
Aren't they queer?
Losing their souls this late
In their careers?
Those two are sick clowns.
They buried us in Iraq,
Let's get out this year.
--Stephen Sondheim, with Jerry Politex
Two Paradies Of "Mr. Ed", Mad Kane/Jerry Politex He Misled Theme Song By Madeleine Begun Kane
Bush never said stay the course, of course.
And no one can challenge this ass of horse.
He lies, perforce, to change the course of election day ahead.
Go right to the source. H'll lie of course.
Won't give you an answer that you'll endorse.
He's never on a truthful course.
Lies you will be fed.
Pundits yakkity yak a streak and waste your time of day.
And talking heads will rarely challenge the lies that the Bushies say.
George Dubya has no remorse, of course,
And Georgie will lie till his voice is hoarse.
He'd love to rule all the world by force.
But listen to this:
Happy days ahead!
Theme from "Mr. Bush"
No one can talk when they're hoarse, of course.
But I tell you today, 'Stay the course, of course."
That is, stay the course, unless I change course,
I'm the famous Mr. Bush.
Go right to the source, am I sounding hoarse?
I'll say whatever you'll endorse.
I'm always on a steady course.
Talk to me, I'm Mr. Bush.
I tell you today, "Stay the course, of course."
I'll continue to talk, though I'm getting hoarse
That is, stay the course, unless I change course,
I'm the famous Mr. Bush.
People yakkity yak a streak and waste your time of day
But Mister Bush will never speak unless he has something to say.
I gotta repeat, "Stay the course, of course."
And I'm gonna talk 'though my voice is hoarse.
You never heard me talking hoarse?
Well listen to this: Gaaag Awkkk Foxppp the course,
'Cause I am Mister Bush.
by Ray Evans and Jay Livingston, with Politex
(thanks for the idea, Mad)
Song: Comma Man , Bernie Taupin/Elton John, with Jerry Politex CNN aired an interview with President Bush in which he declared that one day the Iraq war will look like "just a comma." --Editor and Publisher, Sept. 24, 2006
They packed my brags last night pre-flight
Mission accomplished by nine a.m.
And I'm gonna be high as a kite by then
I miss the "ranch" so much I miss my wife
It's lonely at the top
On such a mindless flight
And I think it's gonna be a long long time
Till touch down brings me round again to find
I'm not the man they think I am at home
Oh no no no I'm a comma man
Comma man burning out his fuse up here alone
Iraq ain't the kind of place to raise your kids
In fact it's hot as hell
And there's no one there to raise them if they're all dead
And all this war stuff I don't understand
It's just my job to lie seven days a week
A comma man, a comma man
And I think it's gonna be a long long time
Till touch down brings me round again to find
I'm not the man they think I am at home
Oh no no no I'm a comma man
Comma man burning out his fuse up here alone
Bush Torture: King of Pain
There's a big black spot on the sun today
It's the same old thing as yesterday
There's a Bush brain caught in a high tree top
There's our flag-pole rag and the wind won't stop
I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
I guess I'm always hoping Cheney'll end this reign
But it's Bush's destiny to be the king of pain.
--by Sting, with Paul Krugman and Jerry Politex
Parody: You're A Grand Old Flag
,
George M. Cohan, with Jerry Politex
You're a grand old flag,
You're a high flying flag
But you're never made of asbestos.
You're the emblem of
The votes they love
Politicians have made you a mess.
All their hearts beat true
For a spare vote or two,
So they'll always lie and brag.
Never hypocrisy be forgot,
Keep their hands off the grand old flag.
Kossacks: Meet the New Boss, Too Much Like the Old Boss, The Who, with Jerry Politex
When the Dean campaign hired [Kos] and his co-author and onetime business partner Jerome Armstrong as paid campaign consultants, this was an appropriate sign of respect, and [Kos] did lay his hand of blog approval upon the Dean campaign...Sounding like Tom DeLay,...Kos says that those who crash the gates and take on the establishment are bound to be attacked. But the truth is that the new boss is little different from the old boss....
[Kos] often directs his wrath at the centrist Democratic Leadership Council. But the centrist Democrat Mark Warner has also hired Armstrong as a consultant, and [Kos] has graciously exempted Warner from the seventh circle of Kos hell....Chris Suellentrop, who writes the Opinionator column on TimesSelect, posted an item on June 16 noting the strange correlation between Armstrong contracts and Kos endorsements....[Kos] has challenged his enemy and become it. --David Brooks, New York Times, June 25, 2006
We'll be fighting in the streets
With our children at our feet
And the morals that they worship will be gone
And the men who spurred us on
Sit in judgement of all wrong
They decide and the shotgun sings the song
I'll tip my hat to the new constitution
Take a bow for the new revolution
Smile and grin at the change all around
Pick up my guitar and play
Just like yesterday
Then I'll get on my knees and pray
Cause we've been fooled again
The change, it had to come
We knew it all along
We were liberated from the fold, that's all
And the world looks just the same
And history ain't changed
'Cause the banners, they are flown in the next war
I'll tip my hat to the new constitution
Take a bow for the new revolution
Smile and grin at the change all around
Pick up my guitar and play
Just like yesterday
Then I'll get on my knees and pray
Cause we've been fooled again
There's nothing in the streets
Looks any different to me
And the slogans are replaced, by-the-bye
And the parting on the left
Are now parting on the right
And the beards have all grown longer overnight
I'll tip my hat to the new constitution
Take a bow for the new revolution
Smile and grin at the change all around
Pick up my guitar and play
Just like yesterday
Then I'll get on my knees and pray
Cause we've been fooled again
Yes, we've been fooled again
No, no!
Bush Can't Get No...
The Imperial's Royal Suite is ranked among the top 100 hotel rooms/suites in the world. Mick, old Keith Richards, et al. will be ensconced amidst the Royal Suite's precious antiques, soaking up the atmosphere of old Vienna, while the leader of the Free World has to settle for lesser digs elsewhere in the city. The president's people apparently thought that Jagger would just hand over the suite when they asked him to. Now they're red-faced because they couldn't talk the unimpressed rocker into giving it up for the president. --Providence Journal
Bush can't get no satisfaction,
He can't get no Royal Suite action.
'cause he tried and he cried and he lied and he spied.
He can't get no, he can't get no....
When he's drivin' in his jet
He never hears a single "nyet"
And he tells the Mick to get
'Cause he's the pres'dent of some nation
Supposed to fire Mick's imagination.
Bush can't get no, oh no no no.
Hey hey hey, that's what Mick say.
Bush can't get no satisfaction,
He can't get no top digs action.
'cause he tried and he cried and he lied and he spied.
He can't get no, he can't get no....
When we're watchin' Bush on tv
And he's telling me
How great my life can be.
Well he isn't be the man 'cause he doesn't talk
Believable to me.
He can't get no, oh no no no.
Hey hey hey, that's what Mick say.
Bush can't get no satisfaction,
He can't get no Prez pad action.
'cause he tried and he cried and he lied and he spied.
He can't get no, he can't get no....
When Bush stompin' round the world
And he's doin' this and signing that
And he's tryin' to take Mick's flat
Mick tells him baby, come back next week,
'cause you're on a losing streak.
He can't get no, oh no no no.
Hey hey hey, that's what Mick say.
Bush can't get no, He can't get no,
Bush can't get no satisfaction,
No satisfaction, no satisfaction, no satisfaction.
--Mick Jagger, with changes by Jerry Politex
Parody: Joe's A Sold Out Man, by Sam and Dave, with changes by Jerry Politex
Comin on to ya, an untrusty toad
Leiberman's giving us a big truck load
And if you take it you got nothing
But dont worry cause Joe's going
Joe's A Sold Out Man
He's Sold Out, Man
He's Sold Out, Man
Joe's A Sold Out Man
Joe's a suck-up-hawk in Bush's pay
And he votes G-O-P most every day
But honey dont you fret
Cause we'll get 'em out yet
Joe's A Sold Out Man
He's Sold Out, Man
Sing it loud!
Joe's A Sold Out Man
He's Sold Out, Man
Listen
I was brought up to vote for what's right
And Liberman's record is a true blue fright
As a Dem he's not doing great
So he'll be gone come August 8
Joe's A Sold Out Man
He's Sold Out, Man
Sing it proud!
Joe's A Sold Out Man
He's Sold Out, Man
This reign of Liberman's got to end
Vote Lamont 'cause he's a true blue friend
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Joe's A Sold Out Man
He's Sold Out, Man
Joe's sold us out!
He's Sold Out, Man
He's Sold Out, Man
Joe's A Sold Out Man
Song: Belafonte's "Bush Bwana Boat Song"
"US security like Gestapo, says Belafonte," AP
Gesh-tah-po, Gesh-tah-ah-po
Bush Security Is Like Gesh-tah-po
Gesh, me say Gesh, me say Gesh, me say Gesh
Me say Gesh, me say Gesh-tah-ah-po
Bush Security Is Like Gesh-tah-po
Beaten all night, got a pain in my tum
Say to Bushman me wan' go home
Suspended me rights till the mornin' come
Say to Bushman me wan' go home
Come, Mister Bush man, you my bu-wah-nah
Daylight come and me wan' go home
Come, Mister Bush man, you my bu-wah-nah
Daylight come and me wan' go home
Six foot, seven foot, eight foot tall
Bush biggest ter'rist in da whole wide world!
Six foot, seven foot, eight foot tall
Bush biggest ter'rist in da whole wide world!
Bush rose to power somewhat du-bee-ous-ly
Then he tells lies to the people of this na-tion
Bush and his henchmen won't let us be
They hold their power with fash-ist o-press-shun
Don't Mister Bush man send us to war
We don't mind fight'in for the folks of this na-tion
But ya give all our money to the rich who have more
While for all us poor it's dirty water and c-ray-tion
Hey, Mister Bush man, you not our bu-wah-nah
We see the light and we say you go home
Hey, Mister Bush man, you not our bu-wah-nah
We see the light and we say you go home
Gesh-tah-po, Gesh-tah-ah-po
Bush Security Is Bush Gesh-tah-po
Gesh, me say Gesh, me say Gesh, me say Gesh
Me say Gesh, me say Gesh-tah-ah-po
Bush Security Is Bush Gesh-tah-po
--by Attaway and Burgie, with changes by Politex
Rendition: Come Fly With Me
Come fly with me, let's fly let's fly away
On you they'll use some exotic screws
In a cell beyond the bay
Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away.
Come talk to me, let's float off o'er the sea
In camel land, they'll slice your hand
And they'll throw away the key
You'll talk and talk, until your face is sand.
Once we get you there,
Where the law is rarefied
They'll tan your hide
And melt your eyes,
Once we get you there
They'll be twisting you this way
You will know why angels fear - because were the USA.
Torture-wise its such a lovely day
Just say the words, or they'll beat your bird
'Till your blood drips through the hay.
Its perfect to elicit what you know - they say
Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away.
by Sammy Cahn, with changes by Jerry Politex
Bush's Recent Speech In Mongolia
ULAN BATOR, Mongolia, November 21, 2005 (AP) - "In the wake of congressional unrest over his war policies, President Bush thanked Mongolia on Monday for standing with him in Iraq."
Papers at home are talking trash
So I came here to give you cash
You folks still back me in Iraq
And I really love your yaks
(Ya' don't talk back!)
Just help me finish up my mission
And we'll have those Chinese wishin'
They helped us out in Iraq
And I really love your yaks
(Ya' don't talk back!)
Even though you drink that rancid milk
And Genghis Khan is of your ilk
You smoke lots of our tobac
And I really love your yaks
(Ya' don't talk back!)
You never give me dirty looks
I know I'm hip; I know what cooks
Talk to those hoodlum nations out back
And I really love your yaks
(Ya' don't talk back!)
You know Dick Cheney's one of you
I know our lies will get us through
We'll bring our kinda peace to Iraq
And I really love your yaks
(Ya' don't talk back!)
Yakety yaks, yakety yaks
Yakety yaks, yakety yaks
Yakety yaks, yakety yaks
Yakety yaks, yakety yaks
--lyrics by The Coasters with changes by Politex
Ballad Of The Bush Man
Bush walks into the room
With a guitar in his hand
He sees Brownie naked
And he says, "Who is that man?"
He tries so hard
But he doesn't understand
Now that he's
Fallen on his tush.
Something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Bush?
Bush raises up his head
And asks, "What's happening in Iraq?"
And Rummy points to him and says
"It's right behind your back"
And Bush says, "What is?"
And Rummy says, "Iraq?"
And Bush say, "Oh my God
Why must we rush."
Something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Bush?
Bush hands in his budget
And all the counters freak
They immediately walk up to him
And you can hear them speak
They say, "How does it feel
To be such a geek?"
And Bush says, "Come on guys,"
Let's all go dutch."
Something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Bush?
Bush has many contacts
Among his many flacks
To make up facts
When someone attacks his prevarications
But nobody has respect
Because they expect him
To give more checks
To tax-deductible faith-based organizations.
Bush has lied to science professors
And they've not liked his looks
With his fake lawyers he's
Praised advisers and crooks
He's been through some of
Uncurious George's books
He's not well read
His mind is mush.
Something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Bush?
Well, Condi, she comes up to Bush
And then she downward kneels
She crosses herself
Then she clicks her high heels
And without further notice
She asks him how it feels
And he says, "Here is your throat back
Thanks for the crutch."
Something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Bush?
Now he sees this one-eyed banker
Shouting the word "NOW"
And Bush asks, "For what reason?"
And he says, "How?"
And Bush says, "What does this mean?"
And he screams back, "You're a cow
Give me some milk
I'll say how much."
Something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Bush?
--Dylan, with Politex
Verse: The Blame Game (excerpts)
The Blame Game
Is the game we're in.
And we're proud to be
In The Blame Game
We love it.
We can hardly wait to wake
And get to work at eight
Nothing's quite the same as the Blame Game.
************
A Bush town is a blue town
A "how do you deal" and "show me what you can steal" town
There's a red carpet at your feet.
But if you're not a Bushie they'll try to beat you down
In a Bush blue town
It's not like the old town
You don't take long to find that you're in a cold town
So tell them where to stick it
Be sure to buy a ticket
And leave this
Cold cold Bush blue town.
**************
Hey there, you with the dollar signs in your eyes
Bush'll always make a fool of you
You used to be too wise
Hey there, you on that high flying cloud
Though Bush won't throw a crumb to you
You think some day he'll come on to you
Better forget him
Him with his nose in the air
He has you hanging from a rope
Twisting, but he won't care
Won't you take this advice
I hand you like a brother
Or are you not seeing things too clear
Are you too filled with greed to hear
Is it all going in one ear
And out the other?
**************
I know a dark secluded muck.
A place where no one gives a darn.
A bribe, a stab, and then you're stuck.
It's called Dick Cheney's fundraiser, oy-vey!
All you drink is heavy booze.
You wonder if you're being used.
And no one cares how much you lose.
Not at Dick Cheny's fundraiser, oy-vey!
Shut It Down
They testified
The mamas cried
Young folks died
When the Bush man lied
See the TV, hear racist nominees
Raptures rage and they're comin'
Testifying and Hummin'
Takin' tabs
To grab
The courts it hurts
With a neck to wreck
Took a poll 'cause our soul
Took a toll
From the education
Of a TV nation
But look around
Hear go the sound of the wreckin' ball
Boom and Pound
When Dems
Shut Congress down
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
Don't need no more judges that hate
Hit 'em hard
Like we're supposed
Pullin' no blows to the nose
But uncle sam said I'm rippin' U a new one
Then what it is
Only part of the biz
I'm addin' woes
That's how it goes
Then Bush men say pay the bank point blank
I own loans
Suckers got me runnin' from the bank
Civil liberty I can't see to pay a fee
I never saw a way to pay a sap
To read the law
Then become a victim of Bush judges
Don't know ya, never saw ya
Tape cued
Gettin' me sued
Dems better shut it down
Who count the money
In the neigborhood
But we spendin' money
To no end lookin' for a friend
In a war to the core
Rippin' up the poor in the stores
Till we get Dem brothers
Kickin' down doors
Then I figure I kick it bigger
Look 'em dead in the eye
And they wince
Defense is to pressure
Don't want it to be
Another racial attack
In disguise so take some Bush judges back
They liked Ike but wait a minite
The 'hood supports torts so put some
Money in it
Corporations owe
They gotta provide some dough
Against Bush judge clowns
Or else
Dems will shut it down
Playin' games with my head
What Bush judge said put me in the red
Got me thinkin' 'bout a trigger to my head
No no
My education mind say
'Pubs gonna pay
Anyway
There gonna be a day
'Cause the troops they roll in
To posse up
Whole from the ground
Ready to go
Throw another round
Sick of the ride
It's suicide
From the other side
Dems better shut Congress down
--by Public Enemy with changes by Politex, 05.16.05
Bush's Farm
I ain't gonna work on Bush's farm no more.
No, I ain't gonna have my wages docked no more.
Well, I wake in the morning,
Fold my hands and pray for rain.
I got a head full of pollution
That is drivin' me insane.
It's a shame the way they price you at his store.
I ain't gonna work on Bush's farm no more.
I ain't gonna work for Bush's brother no more.
No, I ain't gonna work for that ol Jeb no more.
Well, he hands you a nickel,
He hands you a dime,
He asks you with a grin
If you're havin' a good time,
Florida State Guard stands around his door
I ain't gonna work for Bush's brother no more.
I ain't gonna work for Bush's Rummy no more.
No, I ain't gonna work for that guy Rummy no more.
Well, he has them put their guns
In your face just for kicks.
His Pentagon window
It is made out of bricks.
It's a crime the way he's talkin bout the war.
Ah, I ain't gonna work for Bush's Rummy no more.
I ain't gonna work for Bush's preachers no more.
No, I ain't gonna work for Rapture teachers no more.
Well, they talk to all us servants
About man and God and all.
Everybody says
They the brains behind Bush law.
They're flying high but should be out the door.
I ain't gonna work for Bush's preachers no more.
I ain't gonna work on Bush's farm no more.
No, I ain't gonna work on Bush's farm no more.
Well, I try my best
To be just like I am,
But Bush, he wants you
To think just like him.
He sings while you slave...can't take no more.
I ain't gonna work on Bush's farm no more.
--by Bob Dylan, with additions by Politex, 05.10.05
My Sharona
Before "his meeting today with Prime Minister Ariel Sharon of Israel, President Bush spent an hour and a half on Saturday on an 18-mile mountain bike ride at his Texas ranch. With him, as usual, was his indispensable new exercise toy: an iPod music player loaded with country and popular rock tunes...Among them..."My Sharona," the 1979 song by the Knack that Joe Levy, a deputy managing editor at Rolling Stone in charge of music coverage, cheerfully branded 'suggestive if not outright filthy.'" ---New York Times, 04.11.05
Ooh my little crafty one, crafty one.
When you gonna follow the roadmap, Sharona?
Ooh you make my motor run, my motor run.
When'll ya' give the settlements up, Sharona?
Never gonna stop, give 'em up.
Such a dirty mind. Always give it up for our touch
of the U.S. kind. My my my i yi woo. M M M My Sharona...
Come a little closer huh, ah will ya huh.
Close enough to look in my eyes, Sharona.
Keeping it a mystery gets to me.
Running down the length of our policy, Sharona
Never gonna stop, give 'em up. Such a dirty mind.
Always give it up for our touch
of the U.S. kind. My my my i yi woo. M M M My Sharona...
When you gonna give in to me, give in to me?
It is just a matter of time, Sharona.
Is it just destiny, destiny?
Or is it just a game in my mind, Sharona?
Never gonna stop, give 'em up.
Such a dirty mind. Always give it up for our touch
of the U.S. kind. My my my i yi woo. M M M My Sharona...
--by The Knack, with additions by Politex, 04.12.05
CHAIN OF FOOLS
Chain, chain, chain, chain, chain, chain
Chain, chain, chain, chain of fools
Five long years we Mods thought Bush was our man
Found we're just a link in his Far Right plan
He got us where he want us
We ain't nothing but his fool
He treated us mean oh he treated us cruel
Chain, chain, chain, chain of fools
Every chain's got a weak link
Every Mod smells Bush stink
We might just be foot soldiers,
But we'll say what we think
He gave us the cold shoulder
It's our turn to say nope
Bush calls for unity
Dems say we're just dopes
'Pubs say take it easy
Far Right's much too strong
We're gettin' screwed all night long
We're added to his chain, chain, chain,
Chain, chain, chain,
Chain, chain, chain, chain of fools
One of these mornings the chain is gonna break
But up 'til then, we're takin' all we can take
Chain, chain, chain, chain, chain, chain
Chain, chain, chain, chain of fools
--by Aretha Franklin with change, change, changes by Politex, 02.28.05
Anchor Away
"Al Frankin calls on Brit Hume to resign for falsely claiming that former President Franklin Dalano Roosevelt expressed support for Social Security privatization." Media Matters, Feb. 9, 2005
Anchor Away, Brit Hume, Anchor Away.
Farewell to Fox News spin, you leave, Brit, at the break of day-ay.
Your tongue's a twisted knot, your FDR quote's foam,
Hope we never meet again:
Here's wishing you a swift voyage home.
Â
You're, Brit Hume, all at sea, hear our battle cry;
You'll never change the facts, So vicious foe steer shy-y-y-y.
Roll out the TNT, Anchor Away.
Â
We'll sail on to victory
And sink your bones to Davy Jones, hooray!
Â
Know history, never spin,
Truth set to the sky
We'll never change our course
So Fox liars you steer shy-y-y-y.
Â
You don't quote true, Brit Hume
Anchor Away
Go, Brit Hume, down the tubes,
We'll sink Fox liars each and every day.
Words And Music: Capt. Alfred H. Miles U.S.N. and Charles A. Zimmerman (1907) with changes by Politex, 02.12.05
50 Ways To Leave Iraq
"The problem is all inside your head" Bush said to me
"The answer is easy if you take it logically
I'd like to help you in your struggle to be free
There must be fifty ways to leave Iraq"
Bush said "you know it's not my habit to intrude
I hope my meaning won't be lost or misconstrued
But I'll repeat myself at the risk of being crude
There must be fifty ways to leave Iraq"
"Just slip down the gorge, George
Float out in a tub, Dub
You don't need to be coy, Boy
Just get yourself free
Run away from the mess, Prez
You don't need to discuss much
Just drop off the key, 'Three
And get yourself free"
"Ooo slip down the gorge, George
Float out in a tub, Dub
You don't need to be coy, Boy
Just listen to me
Run away from the mess, Prez
You don't need to discuss much
Just drop off the key, 'Three
And get yourself free"
Bush said "it grieves me so to see you in such pain
I wish there was something I could do to make you smile again"
I said "I appreciate that and would you please explain
About your fifty ways to leave Iraq"
Bush said "why don't we both just sleep on it tonight
And I believe in the morning you'll begin to see the light"
And the morning spin told me that Bush was right
He must have fifty ways to leave Iraq
"You just slip down the gorge, George
Float out in a tub, Dub
You don't need to be coy, Boy
Just get yourself free
Run away from the mess, Prez
You don't need to discuss much
Just drop off the key, 'Three
And get yourself free"
"Yes slip down the gorge, George
Float out in a tub, Dub
Don't need to be coy, Boy
Just listen to me
Run 'way from the mess, Prez
Don't need to discuss much
Just drop off the key, 'Three
Get yourself free"
--by Paul Simon with additions by Politex, 02.10.05
Evolution 1
You say you don't want evolution
Well you know
we all want to rule the world
You tell me it's a Bible revolution
Well you know
We all want to change the world
But when you talk destruction, the rapture, and such
You really should slow down, you're out of touch
Don't you know you're really not alright
Uptight Uptight
You say you know the real solution
Well you know
we'd all love to see God's plan
You ask me for a contribution
Well you know
We're doing what we can
But when you want money for people with minds that hate
All I can tell you is brother you have to wait
Don't you know you're really not alright
Uptight Uptight
You say you'll change the constitution
Well you know
we all want to change your head
You tell me it's the institution
Well you know
You better free your mind instead
But if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Bush
You'll only give us a pain in the tush
Don't you know you're really not alright
Uptight UPTIGHT !
--lyrics by The Beatles with changes by Politex, 02.03.05
BUSH'S INAUGURAL SONG
Bush:
As some day it will happen that evil doers must be found
We've got a little list--We've got a little list
Of United States offenders who might well be underground,
And who never would be missed--who never would be missed!
There's those pestilential nuisances in a country called Iran--
And those irritating people in North Korea, near Japan
Then there's Cuba, Syria, Burma, they're more trouble than Sudan
Which reminds me of Zimbabwe and --oh yes-- there's Belarus
Those axis outposts got to go, and there's no time to lose.
They'd none of 'em be missed--they'd none of 'em be missed!
Dick and Condi:
We've got 'em on the list--we've got 'em on the list;
And they'll none of 'em be missed--they'll none of 'em be miss'd!
Bush:
While we're thinking there's Chirac, and the others of his race,
And that country next to them--I've got them on the list!
And the people who eat Chinese food and puff it in your face,
They never would be miss'd--they never would be miss'd!
Then the liberal who praises, with enthusiastic tone,
Every place but this, every country but his own;
And the lady--you know which--who dresses like a guy,
And who "thinks that she will marry, would rather like to try";
And those singular anomalies, arabic linguists--
I don't think they'd be missed--I'm sure they'd not he missed!
Dick and Condi:
We've got them on the list--We've got them on the list;
And we don't think they'd be missed--we're sure they won't be miss'd!
Bush:
And those nasty trial lawyers, who just now are rather rife,
That Judicial critic pundit--I've got him on the list!
All funny fellows, comic men, who criticize my life--
They'd none of 'em be missed--they'd none of 'em be missed.
And apologetic statesmen of a compromising kind,
Such as--What d'ye call him--Colin? and likewise--Never-mind,
And 'St--'st--'st--and What's-his-name, and also You-know-who--
The task of filling up the blanks I'd rather leave to you.
But it really doesn't matter whom you put upon the list,
For they'd none of 'em be missed--they'd none of 'em be missed!
Dick and Condi:
You may put 'em on the list--you may put 'em on the list;
And they'll none of 'em be missed--they'll none of 'em be missed!
They'll--none--of--them--be--missed!
--by Gilbert and Sullivan with changes by Politex, 01.24.05
They're singing in the rain,
just singing in the rain.
What a glorious feeling,
they're happy again.
Laughing at Bush,
so dark 'till '08.
The truth's in their hearts,
so they want a mandate.
Let Bush D.C. clouds chase,
everyone from the place.
Come on with the rain,
they've a smile on their face.
They'll walk through the pain,
with a happy refrain.
Singing, just singing in the rain.
--by Jamie Cullum with additions by Jerry Politex
Vote fraud but Kerry gave in,
We're finally on our own.
Miscounting machines are running,
Vote fraud in Ohio.
Do something about it
Bush is cutting us down
Should have been done long ago
Gotta do it now
Our votes lie dead on the ground
How can you run when you know?
Vote fraud but Bush, he took it,
We're finally on our own.
Bad stink but Rove keeps spinning,
Vote fraud in Ohio.
Gotta have a recount
Poll officials took us down
Should have been changed long ago.
What if you were there?
Voting rights dead on the ground
How can you run when you know?
by Neil Young, with changes by Politex, 11.13.04
The Bush Stoned Blues
Independent voters asleep now of course
The city fathers they're trying to endorse
The reincarnation of Paul Revere's horse
And the town has just cause to be nervous
The ghost of Lee Atwater he hands down his wits
To Karl the Rove he violently knits
A bald wig for Jack the Ripper who sits
At the head of the chamber of commerce
Mama's in the fact'ry
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy's in the alley
He's lookin' for food
I'm in the streets
With the Bush stoned blues
The hysterical bride in the penny arcade
Screaming she moans, "I've just been made"
Then sends out for the doctor who pulls down the shade
Says, "My advice is to not let Bush boys in"
Now the political man comes and he shuffles inside
He walks with a swagger and he says to the bride
"Stop all this weeping, swallow your pride
You may not die, it's just poison"
Mama's in the fact'ry
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy's in the alley
He's paying his dues
I'm in the streets
With The Bush stoned blues
Well, Ashcroft the Baptist after torturing a thief
Looks up at his hero the Commander-in-Chief
Saying, "Tell me great hero, but please make it brief
Is there a hole for me to get sick in?"
The Commander-in-Chief answers while dressed very fly
Saying, "Death to all those who would whimper and cry"
And dropping a bar bell he points to the sky
Saving, "Bring 'em all on, awwh, they're chicken!"
Mama's in the fact'ry
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy's in the alley
He's lookin' for the news
I'm in the streets
With the Bush stoned blues
The king of the Pentagon his soldiers to save
Put jawbones on their tombstones and flatters their graves
Puts the citizens in prison and fattens guard slaves
Then sends them out with no bother
Gypsy George with a blowtorch he burns out the camps
With his faithful pal Cheney behind him he tramps
With a fantastic collection of rubber stamps
To win friends and influence his father
Mama's in the fact'ry
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy's in the alley
He's lookin' for some booze
I'm in the streets
With the Bush stoned blues
The geometry of innocent flesh on the bone
Causes Ginsberg's law book to get thrown
At Ann Coulter who sits worthlessly alone
But the tears on her cheeks are from laughter
Now I wish I could give Brother Ralph his great thrill
I would set him in chains at the top of the hill
Then send out for some pillars and Cecil B. DeMille
He could die happily ever after
Mama's in the fact'ry
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy's in the alley
He's lookin' at the views
I'm in the streets
With the Bush stoned blues
Where Jefferson and Lincoln once unwrapped their bed roll
Bush liars now rehearse around the flagpole
And the National Bank at a profit sells road maps for the soul
To the old folks home and the college
Now I wish I could write you a melody so plain
That could hold you dear reader from going insane
That could ease you and cool you and cease the pain
Of four years of Bush lacking knowledge
Mama's in the fact'ry
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy's in the alley
He's fully confused
I'm in the streets
With the Bush stoned blues
--by Bob Dylan, with additions by Politex, 03.01.04
D.C.
I.
Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over Arlington Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed past Lincoln and down Constitution Avenue,
To where the Capitol guards kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying,
"Congressman!
You who weren't with us in the deserts of Iraq.
That corpse you planted last year in your Georgetown garden,
'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?"
II.
'My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me,' he spoke.
'Answer me, Congressman. Why do you never answer? Answer.
What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
'I never know what you are thinking. Think.'
"I think this Mall is rats' alley,' he answered,
'Where the dead men lost their bones.'
'What is that noise?' I asked.
'The wind under the White House door.'
'What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?' I asked.
'Nothing again, nothing,' the Congressman answered.
'Do You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember
Nothing?' I asked.
"I remember those are pearls that were the soldier's eyes.
'Are you alive, or not, Congressman? Is there nothing in your head?
Do something.'
'What shall I do? What shall we all do?
Shall I rush out as I am, and walk down
Pennsylvania Avenue to the White House?'
'Yes, Congressman, Yes.
Do not ask, what is it,
Let us go and make our visit.'
III.
THE Chair Bush sat in, like a burnished throne,
Glowed on the marble, where the glass
Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines
From which a golden American Eagle peeped out
(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra
Reflecting light upon the memorabilia cabinets,
Filled with worn balls, pennants, photos, uniforms,
In satin cases poured in rich profusion;
While vials of ivory and coloured glass
Unstoppered, lurked his strange synthetic industrial perfumes,
And drowned the sense in foul odours; stirred by the air
That freshened from the window high above, these ascended
In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,
Flung their smoke upward,
Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.
Huge desert-wood fed with copper
Burned beige and burnt orange, framed by the coloured stone,
In which sad light a carved stallion reared.
Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the desert scene
The change of cavalry, by a barbarous leader
And other withered stumps of violent U.S. history
Were told upon the walls; staring forms
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.
Our footsteps shuffled on the stair.
Under the firelight, Bush, his hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.
Over and over, Bush pronounced
The emblem of his reign:
'get'em got'em get'em get 'em got 'em
get'em got'em get'em get 'em got 'em
get'em got'em get'em get 'em got 'em...'
We took our leave
In the face of
Such madness.
IV.
There was no water in that room, but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy desert
The desert winding among the mountains of neglect
Which are mountains of rock without water
If there were water in that room we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and our feet on the stair were in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead desert mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
In that room one can neither stand nor lie nor sit
There is not even silence in that desert
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There was not even solitude in that room
But red sullen faces sneered and snarled
From doors of mudcracked minds
If there were the sound of water only
Sound of water over a rock
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
But there was no water
V.
THE Potomic's tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf
Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The Noble are departed.
The river bears empty bottles, sandwich papers,
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends
And other testimony of summer nights. Truth-tellers are departed.
The long-gone heirs of city fathers,
Departed, have left no addresses.
By the waters of the Potomic I sat down and wept...
But at my back in a cold blast I hear
Times winged chariot hurrying near,
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.
A rat crept softly through the vegetation
Dragging its slimy belly on the bank
While I was fishing in the dull canal
On a winter evening round behind the congressional gashouse
Musing upon our country's wreck
And on the kings, our fathers' deaths.
White bodies naked on the low damp ground
And bones cast in a little low dry garret,
Rattled by the rat's foot only, year to year.
But at my back from time to time I hear
The sounds of long, black limousines hurrying near.
Et, O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la dome!
VI.
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this land of dying stars
In this hollow valley of D.C.
This broken jaw of our lost kingdom.
In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river.
Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.
VII.
Here we go round the prickly bush
Prickly bush prickly bush
Here we go round the prickly bush
At five o'clock in the morning.
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow of greedy, vain men
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow of power-hungry, blind men
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow of stupid, little men
This is the way our world ends
This is the way our world ends
This is the way our world ends
Not 'round a bang but a bush.
--from selected poems by T.S. Eliot, with changes by Politex, 02.09.04
I Am The Very Model of a Modern Major-President
Bush sings on the 2004 campaign stump.
--based on Gilbert And Sullivan, with additions by Politix, 01.18.04
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