B.S. [Bernie Sanders] today
Said the rich can afford to pay
For everything swell
(For illegals as well)…
Archive of posts filed under the Songs & Poems category.
Song Parody: Disaster Election
[To the tune of Billy Joel’s “Downeaster Alexa”]
♩♩♪
Well I’m in this disaster election
And I’m losing to blockheads around
While Obama’s, of course, on the Vineyard
And renaming it “Barack Island Sound.”
I took on Beto and the Mohawk yesterday
Leftists moaning “Get the hell out of Bernie’s way”
Frightened the yokels, then he bought another home
Too proud to work, I let my minions work the phones
So I could
Run my disaster election
And I go where the pockets are deep
There’s compliance out there where I canvas
And a good shepherd can’t fail his sheep.
♩
They’ve got bills to pay and children who need clothes
I know they think I care, but why God only knows!
Blue-collar voters aren’t what they used to be
But I got people back of them who’re backing me.
So if you see my disaster election
And if you’re “woke,” and looking for your free meal
Get a life; I am trolling The Apprentice
Got no use for news that is real.
♩
Now what drives my disaster election?
The media, more and more every year.
Since they told me they’d help sell my whoppers
And there’s no lack of gaslighting here.
I was obeyin’ like my father did before
Can’t make a living just obeying anymore
There ain’t much future for a man who bucks D.C.
But bucks are flowing to left candidates like me. . . .
[Lie, Lie, Lie, Oh! . . .]
♩♩♪
Llamarick
From Monty Python and the Holy Grail:
The directors of the firm hired to continue the credits after the other people had been sacked, wish it to be known that they have just been sacked.
The credits have been completed in an entirely different style at great expense and at the last minute.
.Executive Producer JOHN GOLDSTONE & “RALPH” The Wonder Llama
Producer
MARK FORSTATER
Assisted By
EARL J. LLAMA
MIKE Q. LLAMA III
SY LLAMA
MERLE Z. LLAMA IX
Directed By
40 SPECIALLY TRAINED ECUADORIAN MOUNTAIN LLAMAS
6 VENEZUELAN RED LLAMAS
142 MEXICAN WHOOPING LLAMAS
14 NORTH CHILEAN GUANACOS (CLOSELY RELATED TO THE LLAMA)
REG LLAMA OF BRIXTON
76000 BATTERY LLAMAS FROM “LLAMA-FRESH” FARMS LTD. NEAR PARAGUAY
and
TERRY GILLIAM & TERRY JONES
Well, this is going over like a steel drum!
So here’s today’s unfinished work-in-progress.
And I checked: there are rhymes.
.
That Peruvian creature, the Llama
Reminds me, somehow, of Obama:
It can be black or white,
Push-Me-Pull-You, and bite…
And They Thought He Was All Barefoot and Free-Lovey
Next time a liberal gets all poetryish with you, give ’em a few blades from Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass:
To the States
To the States or any one of them, or any city of the States, Resist much, obey little,
Once unquestioning obedience, once fully enslaved,
Once fully enslaved, no nation, state, city of this earth, ever afterward resumes its liberty.
(That’s the whole poem)
.
. . . or a later poem, in the same book:
.
To The States [To Identify the 16th, 17th, or 18th Presidentiad]
Why reclining, interrogating? why myself and all drowsing?
What deepening twilight-scum floating atop of the waters,
Who are they as bats and night-dogs askant in the capitol?
What a filthy Presidentiad! (O South, your torrid suns! O North, your arctic freezings!)
Are those really Congressmen? are those the great Judges? is that the President?
Then I will sleep awhile yet, for I see that these States sleep, for reasons;
(With gathering murk, with muttering thunder and lambent shoots we all duly awake,
South, North, East, West, inland and seaboard, we will surely awake.)
Doesn’t sound to me like ol’ Walt was a big fan of Washington, D.C.
[He was a conscientious objector in the first Civil War, but volunteered as a male nurse to wounded soldiers, and this shaped his opinion of war.]
Not Cowboy Poetry, But Still Poetry — Courtesy of the National Park Service
For what it’s worth. The final three stanzas of the poem are the Money-Read Quotes:
–
Thoughts on Fort Marcy
by Lillian Money-Read
(Published in the The Washington Post, April 12, 1936)
. . . My dog bounds down and leaves a darkened trail
Along the silvered hillside, wild with mirth,
His mouth is spread, his limpid eyes a-shine,
His muzzle wet with brown, sweet-smelling earth.
On fair Fort Marcy, thus I dream today.
And hear the swollen creek rush to the river,
With muffled roar like a dreadful battle din
Which made, of old, these frightened forests shiver!
Ah, bright the ferns that clothe these silent moats,
And sweet the lanes where walked the sentinel,
Yet scarce a flower springs on this haunted ground
But marks the place where some young soldier fell!
Limerwreck
While you’ve all still got your humor hats on, there’s another limerick that needs a final line.
Some person I don’t even know
Claims I did something decades ago
And says it was rude,
Outrageous and crude…
Limerick Completion
Perhaps someone can supply a last line for this limerick.
.
There once was a candidate, Warren
Whose polls were suddenly soarin’
She was in contention
When they convened the convention …
All Che Wants To Do Is Dance
[To the tune of Don Henley’s “All She Wants To Do Is Dance”]
♪
They’ve been picking up pensioners
And giving them a pen:
And all they want to vote are Dems.
Libs have been trouble
Since I don’t know when
And all they want to vote are Dems.
They’ll register everything but the kitchen sink
Never leave it up to chance
They mix up the right
With everything that stinks
It works on all of those who are dense.
Crazy Biden on the screen with blood in his eyes
And all they want is a dunce, dunce, dunce
Wild-eyed pistol-grabbers who ain’t afraid to lie
And all they want to do is —
All they wish you knew is —
Dense.
And fake comments.
They want defeat
Comin’ off Wall Street
They want their party
They want a let-down
And all of this to-do is —
All they want’s another France.
Well the government bugged Trump’s boardroom
Without probable cause
And all they say is “It’s not spying.”
They keep the boys in business
With weapons and laws
And they shrug and say that they weren’t trying.
Yeah, but that don’t keep the boys from making a buck or two
On MS-NBC
Selling out the country
Like the guns that they sold too
They’re all Che wannabees
And all Che wannabees are fools
Who play the rules.
Well, of course, they’re off to Cherbourg
On the last plane out
On CNN in the airport
They can hear the people shout:
They said, “Don’t get caught in hanky-panky
But if you ever do
Be sure to bring some money
‘Cause all we want is our advance…
And Macron’s pants.”
They want defeat
Comin’ off Wall Street
They want their party
They want a let-down
All they want to do is —
All they want to be is —
France.
♩♩♪
Overheard at a Hamptons Bistro
I’m telling you, it’s very true, the country’s at its worst
With Trump empowered every hour and that ‘America First.’
We have foreign investments — Waiter, and a first-class thirst —
Sometimes I feel, lately, that the rich are truly cursed.
Put it on my tab. My husband will see to it.
It’s only money — and believe me, honey, I will blow right through it. {sips}
I heard that sweet intern of his and he still do it.
He’d rue the day you knew I knew — if he only knew it!
If somebody had told me, several years ago
A socialist over a socialite? I’d have voted “No.”
Bernie Sanders burned the standards. It only goes to show.
Sandals over scandals, now we really have to go.
Got nothing against him, except everything.
Maybe dear, old Hillary is waiting in the wing.
No matter what they think of her, think of what she’d bring
To the table — if she’s able — it’d be another Prog Spring!
Overheard At A Bar
I’m telling you, I tell you true, the country’s gone insane.
We ousted Saddam then elected a Hussein.
The Brain Trust? Yeah, right: there’s no trust, and no brain.
And the whole next year, trust me, is going to be a pain.
Will the Democrats cancel my tab like student debt?
If the owner is a Democrat he won’t, I’ll bet!
I notice he hasn’t taken down any walls yet.
If they ever put their money where their mouth is, buddy, we’re all set!
If somebody had told me seven years ago
That Trump would be president, I’d have told you “No.”
I’d have said “impossible.” It only goes to show.
And show is all it goes to. Only if you’ve got the dough.
Got nothing against him — don’t get me wrong.
They got nothing either, though they tried so freaking long.
No matter what they think of next, it’s still the same old song
Well, let’s have another round — the economy’s strong.
She’s Always a Clinton To Me (Song Parody)
[To the tune of Billy Joel’s “She’s Always a Woman”]
♩♩♪
She concealed secret files
And she hired foreign spies
She ruined womens’ lives with her casual lies
And she’ll never reveal what she did with I.T.
Made up, like, out of whole cloth,
Her excuse for a clear felony.
She can’t lead the country
But she won’t take it or leave it
Said she wanted to be a minister
But no one believed it
And she’ll promise voters anything as long as it’s free
No commander-in-chief
But she’s always inhuman, to me
Oh
She takes care of herself
And her foundation grows on the taxpayers’ dime
Oh
And she never gives up, and she never gives in
What does it matter, this time?
She promised the muslims
The Garden of Eden
Then she took out Qaddafi
And laughed at his bleeding
At her best with Whitewater
At her worst, Benghazi
Blames it on someone else
‘Cause she’s always inhuman, to me
She is freakily unkind,
Habitually cruel
She does as she pleases
The press is her tool
But she can’t be convicted
Apparently
And the most she will do
Is throw shade at the truth
But she’s always inhuman, to me
♩♩♪
Sure Leave
[To the tune of “Kokomo”]
♩♩♪
Vacation for Harvey? Ooh, I hope it’s marvy
A week off, to sneak off, maybe take an R.V.?
Key person, dispersing, baby, where did he go?
To the Florida Keys? One thing for sure is I don’t know.
Just took his time to get away from it all.
Bodhisattva land? — A topical thing, I understand —
We’ll be in despair and disrepair, without his steel-gloved hand
Is he in the Poconos?
One thing for certain, it’s not the Iron Curtain
Beirut or Botswana. Come on, he’s not Obama!
Chernobyl? He’s mobile. Baby why would he go?
Oh, I’m pretty sure it’s not San Francisco:
He’d get there fast and then he’d faster go
That’s why we want to know:
Where did Harvey go?
One bet I’ll make
It’s somewhere where there’s steak
Maybe put out to sea. It’s a perfect mystery.
And by and by he’ll return with a little bit of sanity.
Straight Lines of the Day, cocktails the Molotov way
That little turn of a phrase gives meaning to his days
Wait, where did Harvey go?
. . .
♩♪
A Nostalgorithm
The Golden Age of the Internet is coming to an end.
In many ways so are the days when you can view it as your friend.
A useful tool? Don’t be a fool
(They baited us, we bit;)
It depends on us, but we depended a bit too much on it.
A couple of guys on campuses thought it would be a lark
To have privileged communications and keep others in the dark.
The system grew, the darkness too
(Was fated to, perhaps:)
Humanity is not particularly well known for avoiding traps.
“It’s free if you’re the product,” you’re “submitting” when you “send”
Consider what they gather; consider to what end.
Customized, weaponized
(They waited; we did too;)
Monetized, compromised — the internet and you.
A search is not a search but a red flag or a footnote;
A useful bit of data — just like everything you wrote.
A statistic known, which you don’t own
(And they’ve stated that quite clearly:)
In their terms of service. As amended yearly.
Once upon time it was no crime to search for anything;
You’d be amazed, in the early days, the results a search would bring.
Unbiasedly, anonymously
(Rated all the same;)
They weren’t cherry-picked. That’s the way they came.
Surveillance now supersedes every other need,
Re-invested proceeds help the process to proceed.
Open source? Open sores.
(They dictate what is bought:)
The Golden Age of the Internet was shorter than we thought.
[In the fourth lines, the smirking emojis are not coincidences]
Ballad by Chris Dissed-Often-Son (Song Parody)
(To the tune of “Me and Bobby McGee” by Kris Kristofferson)
[Reference link]
♩♩
Lost it in a Manhattan lounge
Verging on insane
Sinking lower than my Nielsen rating
Just as crazy as it sounds
Almost bust a vein
Blaming everybody else for hating
Well I poured my heart out
In four-letter increments
I threatened to throw him down the stairs
Luckily lackey restraint won out
Over lack of sense
The liberal media’s reaction: who cares?
Fredo’s just another word for another lefty loser
Highly entertaining and it’s free
Spouting off was easy, libs come by it naturally
Spouting off is good enough for me
But is it good enough to boost my show on TV?
From the gold mine of nepotism, to the California elite —
Bubba, Hill, and Nancy Pelosi:
Father and brother introduced me to what I’ll never be
A politician like that [redacted] AOC
Then somewhere up near the salad, Lord, I told the punk to get away
Or I’d ruin his [chips] — I’m an important guy!
Well, I’ll be on my show tomorrow and a special guest today,
You know I know Holder and have buddies in the FBI.
Fredo’s just another sign the left has nothing to lose
And a nothin’ — that’s all that it implies
Fredo, take it easy now — sit and read the news,
You’re in it, and that’s good enough for me.
Good enough for Assault and Battery Three.
♩♩
The Boy Who Lived — Vicariously
It’s kind of tragic
That there’s no magic
As kids have been raised to believe.
No chants, no verses
Reverse the curses
Of Washington, Deceived.
No Hermione Grangers,
No game changers:
Change itself has been gamed.
Lord Voldemort
Didn’t cause Baltimore
But The Causes Shall Not Be Named.
No incantation
Will save the nation —
Words don’t work wonders like that.
There’s no magic wand.
So, they’ve been conned:
It’s sordid, but not by a hat.
Yes, there are creatures
And enough scary features
In the world to make one nervous,
But the lessons kids took
From this spell-binding book
May have done them a disservice.
Too much reliance
On conjuring, violence,
Specialness and powers,
Can result
In a lightning bolt
Tattooed on a child who cowers.
Instilled devotions
To wishes and potions
Leave them ill-equipped for a fight,
But still fill them with notions
They can hold back oceans
By waving their arms. And their rites.