2005 Bozo Songs From The Forthcoming Extended Play Release:
"Where's The Royalties, Please?"

The 2004 Score: A Bozo Eve Song

What's another year?
A veil of tears
On sale with fear
That's what we get.

Or maybe we met
The right's sort of gear
Change the law
Duck the blame.

Or waving our set
Shot down by Swift vets
Shameless sharp claw
That's what's left.

It began with crass poets:
"They'll see liberators
We'll be gay baiters
Sooner or later".

It's drunk down with Moet
The skunks of Texas know it
And they sow it, like death
Every pious breath.

It ends in disaster
And there are no spies
For deep blue masters
Or when my Dad dies.

Coyote By Rote G: A Bozo Memorandum Song

Gonzales, we must be speedy
There's this thing called needy
We jack up the needed funds
We jack boots of greedy bunds.

There shall not be torture
Unless you're in the mortuary
Or can't pay the tributary
For inaugurals to ease.

Alberto, your memo's a memory
General attorney
That'll be testimentary
Before the committee.

G's stuck in quattrains
That blame what remains
On lower orders
Of armorless marauders.

So it's a supplemental
For the new 350 mil
And 16 bil unspent
Seismic shift? Elemental!

We'll invite the soldiers
Whose loss has stopped
To G's lindy hop
See how they smolder.

Me, I'm getting older
I don't see the point
Of which deathly joint
We don't care to anoint.

Babe came away
From what is Phuket
She couldn't stay
Or fill the bucket
With our sort of swill
Poor men pay the bill
G men, they just shill.

The Sprigs Of Pigs: A Bozo Assistance Song

We need a Prez or two
To pass the hat
Of misconstrue
To end their days
'Coz our overdraft's
Far more than this one says.

Here's our boy Bill
Ready to shill
Again,what a switch
Beggin' your pardon, Mark Rich!

Here's 43's Dad
And he's sorta sad
But he'll raise without guile
On leave from Group Carlyle.

Our generous land
Tears full of quick sand
Gives a dollar seventeen
Per tsunami death... Mean?

We're a country
Of, by, and for
The people
Tapped out, encore:
"The greatest source
of America's generosity
is not our government;
it's the good heart
of the American people."

Here's the real score:
"We're all a bit coarse
From bellicosity
For our covenant
Prayin', makin' a buck
On rebuilding your steeple
With two parts wood
And a bit of sophistry".

The greed of our world
Is where fishermen die
For another big lie
Clutching each other...sigh!
Our whales of Jonah
Might one day phone ya
Or leave you to drown
In pursuit of their own.

While Bush's cure all
Is one more inaugural
To values of heft
Freedom withall will come:
With the end of his sums
And an unmourned death.

One More Chopper's Cross: A Bozo Tsunami Song

Don't need no Gurkas
We're all in burkas
But don't be phony
Or call us tony...

The Mideast Peace
The Second comes
In deficit sums
We'll do our least.

The tsunami
Nips now our buds
Of origami
They give in floods.

The Iraqi police
Bombed, decreased
Monitors the LANs
Safe housed in Jordan.

Doctors! Lawyers!
Mt. Rushmore voyeurs?
Tax cut reliefs!

Sultanate of Brunei
A batch unelected
Dickhead of Texas
Naturally selected.

What does it buy?
Eons of sighs
Hypocrisy n'
Apostacy n'
Less plaintiff briefs.

My country
On Coventry:
Fuck it!
350 mil?
Poison pill!

Colin at ya!
Sri Lanka?
Triage Sanka!

No go firma!
Pop psychology!
One day, for sure!

Wealth of nations?
Bongo, Bongo, Bongo...

What's A Coat Connote? A Bozo Philosophy Song

Misunderstood industry
Is building less jobs
In the spirit of Nero
Next year we'll fiddle
The numbers of history
Cut down Ground Zero.

We torture for now
We torture and bow
We don't remember
Who we dismember
Who won in November
We're tsumani cows.

An opposition?
No, no contrition
Dems are surpassed
By fear of past
Or rule of yobs
Bent to serve nobs.

Will some good Muslims love us?
Or is pork our point of view?
Our brood skims uncovetous?
Or smokes joints parvenu?

Babe's not confessed
I am depressed
So little we accept
Or give to those bereft
Our idiot's game
Of no one's to blame
Might achieve some fame
When dawns the day
We could just say:
"Yep, we're ashamed".

The Shellshock Smock: A Bozo Colloquial Song

I like to eat Thai shrimps
They taste like cocaine
Overcooked, they're tough blimps
Undercooked, they bring ptomaine

When the tsunami came
I said to God in Mississippi
"We can offload our shame
With tariffs, not sympathy"

And he said to me:
"You sound like Lott's wife
Always frozen in strife
Nothing but conspiracy".

So I had to rejoin:
"Dost thou mean of the sea?
Or how low these crates swing
Under Gulf Coast coin?"

He was angry:
"See, in times techtonic
Plates are like string
Such high colonics
Aren't songs to sing"

Well, I said:
"It takes 40 years
Of Johnny Reb fears
For justice to be paid".

Sure, he didn't deny:
"The wisdom of solon's
Not a red world
With flags unfurled
And freedoms gone".

I'm leaning to ally:
"The beauty of ocean's
Not a blue world
With hardly a motion
But get and go along".

Babe is my diety:
"We don't entreat
Greed and horror abate
When all can meet
Don't change that fate!"

World Be Free: A Bozo ABA Song

Another day at HSA
This nominee's not gay
He's just a bit parched
From a Justice march.


Another day in Sumatra
The airport opens
Cases of Levitra
Dismissed, frivolous.



Reindeers Green Zone
Out chasin' mantra
Pull up, Santa!
Secure your own!


Another day in Falluja
Poll station mopin'
Some queues will date
The pearly gates.


Another day in San Juan Capistrano
Muddy marshmallows
Rebuild's the theme
A tone for FEMA.


Kerik lies 'mong pidges
'Long Rhodesian Ridges
Whacks off midges
Loses privileges.

Another day in Guantanamo
Ozzy cuts a deal
For Alberto's spiel
An inaugural meal.


I am democracy
You treasure me?
Innocence troves
What guilt proves.

Five By '36: A Bozo Pix Song

Inspectors finished
Found nothing at all
Countries diminished
Guess the sanctions worked
Until they were borked
By some Bush league stalls.

Instead DC balls
Unsent troops with scum
From inaugurals
Don't please tote up sums!
One salve for sadness
Wait! Reefer Madness

Late she Thelma White
Starred in flick as Mae
Missed box office marks
Cluster bombs bars clark
What becomes affray
Sick traumas of spite.

Aboard The SS Steve's Stock Options: A Bozo Consumption Song

"What's a lanyard string up
In this barnyard coin op?
A bottle of Ricard?
Or one darn tarn Titan?

Let not press gangs bring up
Questions to mottle terms
Or dare cite Poor Richard
Almanacs do frighten.

My lanyard proud, my songs
Of Abu Gharab thongs,
Satraps, shrouds, squirms, and stays
Joined up on thoughtful days."

An Inaugural Peak: A Bozo Triumphalist Song

No account your ejection
I won the election
Surmounts all erection
Of natural selection.

We have a party
We control the House
We extol the Senate
We have that, smarties!

Who gets to give head
In this land of red?
Not yet are they dead
We must have meant it.

Who's for the woodshed
Of a blue blood's bed?
Not yet what's been said
Before we bent it.

We could now marry
We should be scary
With blood not tarry
With good not parry.

It's a crisis just
Of a Saviour's must
Of a waiver's lust
Of a dollar bust.

I've been to a marvelous party
Quite for no reason
I'm here for the season
Whatever they say
To the frightfully gay
Such balls might well end in confusion.

You see what these blowhards
Are up to, their bomb shards
Might just burst Allawi
Or La France's cursed mais oui
Take 'em down, but first Thee
Outlaw Noel Coward.

With a set of delusions:
We have enough troops in Iraq
And Iran's not a scoop
We gave all the money we have
And tsunami is pooped
We wave high a Grand Old Flag
And a fag we can droop
We return second-class bags
Stamped upon, call 'em state's rights.

The inaugural contusion:
Sure, we are in a war
Furnace, open the bar
Pure, we've beaten the heat
Lure, we fear limo cars
Cure, we forgive doctors
Duress, extend and meet
Tours, of mighty Gharaib.

Warrick With Mayo: A Bozo Inaugural Song

Should we be nice?
To Dr. Rice?
In a trice
I'd say whoa!
She's no hero.

War launched, her zeroes
We'd have to weigh:
No millionaire pays
No mushroom clouds.
1,300 plus shrouds.
Not counting Iraqis.

In a paunch of grace
Stanford isn't a race
That's why we have unis
To argue for Sunnis
Or Secs of State puny.

Who would Dr. King obey?
The content of character?
Or a Hollywood actor?
Or the factor of Coretta?
Our Prez don't go to Ebenezer
He knows it wouldn't please her.

Babe and I have got the ken
Of meaning, ask Uncle Ben:
Is it a minute of time
A minuet full, of slime
World hates us, and waits
For 4 more years
With a barrel of beer
To toast unselfish fate?

We could read newspapers
Or make our fortunes
Across the table
With husbands unable
To cook by books
To look through asides
To rook bonafides

Ecstasy is my beat
Babe she liked White Heat
Cagney's mammamania
Salt Pork, West Virginia
Bork's wages portune

Timeless alibis.
Rewarding spies
Seward's folly
Steams quite jolly
A-team with flies.

One Terror Ceremonial: A Bozo Inaugural Song

Here is a choir
At the inaugural
To the Son Of
The Great Leader
Poppy Il Sung.

Where is the mire?
It's procedural
To play down
Elections or say
Accounts are settled.

There is a fire?
An epidural of
Habanero crowns
With prudent petals
Lexus nexus beans.

What does inspire?
A doubting frown
Of snideful metal
Bought on the way
To wartime scenes.

Who is the squire?
His name G Jong Il
One smashing pleader
Against the morning
After pills, torture.

Why did he get hired?
'Coz fear outweighed
Four years of loathing
Teardrops of oathing
Lo! Ends one day.

The Low Grade Parade: A Bozo Inaugural Song

What will never pall?
With inaugural balls?
Why, democracy!
As we do promote it
Overseas I note but
Here at home we don't.

When you're fucking young
An anthem is sung:
"We can't give you pills
That lead to cheap thrills
So you'll have a baby
Roe'll fade, maybe!"

When you're not well hung
Pro football done brung:
"Levitra's on its own
A kind of Levittown
Quieting all the wives
Leaden, desperate lives"

When you have a tongue
Lickin' 'round the gong:
"We didn't go to war
With the army we saw
Or raise up a bar
To waterboarding".

When the nights are long
Here come in 4 Tongs
Off to Boston keen
To bake off mung beans?
Blow up Cape Cod's lee.
Stamp out Texas T.

When the bell tolls clong
On the red state's thong
We'll arrest a throng
Or light up a bong
Good old yesterday
'Cross the USA.

The Last Western Indians: A Bozo Farewell Song

The Powells are gone
No, won't be missed
'Coz obscenity
Fits like a glove.

An obedient one
A concentratin' son
Graspin' for slam dunks
Gaspin' at glam tits.

And both shined up
Just like Lena Horne
And both wind up
Out the door with scorn.

In serenity, pig's war
For two are soldiering
In amenities a core
Of black men smoldering.

I broadcast on the Internet
Concentrate now on dead vets
Sac flied bits of nothin'
Avowals busted cunks.

Be not confused
Father and son permitted
Beasts sure to borrow
JP Morgan's collateral.

Unilateral tomorrow...

Society white and black
Losers who don't fight
Two late jigs lack
Colorblind love.

The Question Of Indiscretion: A Bozo Complacency Song

Shall we invade?
To protect Roe v. Wade?
From the right to life?
From the torturer's knife?

Shall we allow?
A Gonzales vow?
For Little Eva?
For a wink at Geneva?

Shall we not rise?
Consent and advise?
To upset tyranny?
Even in Virginny?

Shall we be evil?
Like Osama a devil?
So shill our God?
Or just be odd?

Shall we sit and mope?
Down a slippery slope?
Ask leading dopes?
Aligned agin' Scopes?

Shall we be all good?
Blow up neighborhoods?
To save from error?
To combat terror?

Shall we all be mad?
Or tsunami sad?
Unmentioned free thirst?
To quench by our worst?

Babe, is that all?
"Dunno, your call?"
Shall hatred appall?
"Go forth, stand tall?"

So why not question?
The guise of discretion?
A safe house confession?
Endeth the lesson?

The Truth At 17: A Bozo Filbert O'Sullivan Song

Reverse these bleeps!
They're not too steep.
Not quite a sweep!
Conservative creeps...

Don't make me weep!

A smart one peeps
Blirts late and cheap
Like German sheep
Obeyed, asleep.

They ordered no jeeps
They followed by leaps
Their Pres and Veep
Mined Goebbels deep...

We're stuck in heaps
Of blood that seeps
For now, for keeps
Let freedom reap!

The Values Crew Cut: A Bozo Chary Song

Gorilla Meek, American writer (1956-), encounters Voltaire, French writer (1694-1778), at an Amsterdam, NY coffee klatsch:

(Gorilla Meek):    Comes to pander
                               Yonder goose
                               Best to wonder
                               What the heck?

(Voltaire):             Womb she chooses
                               For her respect!!!
                               All those whom
                               Ganders assail...

(Gorilla Meek):    And those arresting
                               All females!!!

Hillary Clinton (1947-): "I for one respect those who believe with all their heart and conscience that there are no circumstances under which abortion should be available."

Gorilla and Voltaire: "We may disagree with what you have to say, but we will defend, to the death, your right to say it".

Parked The Car, Here We Are: A Bozo Derailment Song

At a junction near Glendale
Comes a man depressed
To park on the rails
But his mind's way too messed
So they put him in jail.

On a suicide watch
He's charged with murder
What a funny catch
Under Gov. GropenFuhrer
Mental health was dispatched.

There's a land beyond pale
Where gruesome fascists killed
Millions more did they grill
These ways now we just mail
In like questions, our skill.
Once again this old Pope
Failed against rope a dope
With a false kind of hope
In death, not one mope
In life, just a grope.

This Sunday's election
For this empire's deflection
Betrayed, occupying
Stayed too long with the lying
'Bout natural selection.

Here Senators are wedding
Brown Rice by abettin'
With no sense of regrettin'
A bold mission might deaden
Or in fatigues turn leaden.

In future one bill arrives
For 1,400 GI lives
Refinanced yet once more
At Beijing superstores
By Bush shucks and jives.

On his day of acquital
Glendale parker's great riddle
Reason lead to commital
Justice beats unfit fiddles
Superpowers just piddle.

The Whore's Men Cometh: A Bozo Revelation Song

How many of us know
A GI in the big show?
Not the ones black and white
Of Capra's "Why We Fight"
But the ones at stake
In this Hammer remake.

They're still eating spam
As they did back in 'Nam
Only there's no armor
From hammerin' Sam.

What about the Four Freedoms?

The first is freedom of speech
And expression
Everywhere in the world
But our tires now screech!
We pull the plug on rabbits
Who preach tolerance
For the habits of lesbians.

The second is freedom of every person
To worship God in his own way
Everywhere in the world
But now let's say in her own way
Then those who man warships
Erect restrictions every day
Until they get their way.

The third is freedom from want
Which, translated in world terms
Means economic understandings
Which will secure to every nation
A healthy peacetime life
For its inhabitants
Everywhere in the world.

There's a freedom from cant
But that's for the infirm
Of vague meanderings
Like unprotected relations
Are midwives to the wealthy
And a life that's unhealthy
Remains uninsured.

The fourth is freedom from fear
Which, translated in world terms
Means a worldwide reduction
Of armaments to such a point
And in such a thorough fashion
That no nation will be in a position
To commit an act of physical aggression
Against any neighbor-anywhere in the world.

That was settled last year
Which means, you will squirm
At the end of seduction
With firmaments out of joint
By a make believe Passion
Vioxx pills decomissioned
To remit with confessions
Just ignore outsourced labor--anywhere in the world.

Now the four can't afford
Workin' late, sellin' tips
Raisin' cash, Shanghai slips
Makin' greed, lettin' chips
Bailing, fell in accord
Failing, red state regrips
Breedin' apocalypse.

Election Central: A Bozo Owned It Song

Should we have hope this eve?
Or should we diss belief
To spar with of course
The deaths of more vets
For WMD Relief?

Should Iraqis vote to be free?
Or is Galilee what they see
Like so many clay pigeons
Pulled and shot by religion
For some prophets' fees?

Should we be left to perceive?
Or shall we deceive
Where the hand of advice is
One dapper brand in crisis
Social insecurity?

Should Iraqis do their best?
Or are they truly messed
By the terror throne
To rebate this green zone
Insensate, who can guess?

On the seventh day is rested
With blood and tears invested
Sam's souks come out to force
The land they couldn't bribe
To be more flag than tribe.

Election Night: A Bozo Projection Song

So they came out in millions
CPA pissed away billions
Lo! In freedom we snack
On the vote in Iraq.

Results proportionate
Medalled Bremer extortionate
While insults multinational
Are what's left of the arsenal.

Bush says, "But they're free!
Is that not worth a candle?
Aren't you gettin' a fee?
For your view's just a scandal!"

Babe says, "When we laid low
Fallujah, with a gun show's
Collusion, do let's drop now
Spilled blood, for a happy conclusion."

I say, "But this war was at most
Just the move of goalposts
What still really strikes terror
Is the margin of error".

Bop? We Surely Can, Pop: A Bozo Lifestyle Song

There is never a doubt
When my tongue does hang out
That I dream of bang bouts
Ursula and Raquel.


My force in retrospect
Is more or less a shell
With sand kickin' my face
Just a stream of disgrace.


My premium projects
This consultant's best years
On beaches like gulls-ah
I'm erectin', fellas!



"Call him out by blue phone
Crank it up, his cue's done
What? Pepe Le Pew's gone
Sleepin', get a new bone!".

Well, my doc is quite smart
'Coz he warns that my heart
Might burst or on trial
Succumb to denial!


So I buy her a beer.
She is charmed by my talk
Set her up, random walk
An historical leer.


Bridge #2:

Whee whee whee, where is she?
Spanish flies, third degrees
"Did we not make Paris?"
Asks my Johnson Legree.

Came back down on the farm.
No mistake, no malice
See, she drives a Big Pharm
Coupe de Ville Cialis.



I'm takin' Viagra
Over Niagara
Resurrects two dead balls
Tho' they lead to the falls.

The End Is NIH: A Bozo Income Song

Stock analysis! That jerk's
What made me buy more Merck
'Coz one day Dr. Varmus
Saw profits so enormous

But bought off research
Is not most docs' church
Nor tenets of philosophy
From CIA apostasy.

Vioxx, fond of greed mess!
Celebrex a second guess!
When your stem cell's born in Jersey
You're often sworn to heresy:

We Bozos gather
To quench thirst,
Mates, who blather
On, floggin'
Remake songs:

Doubtless ethics
Under par today
The right-wing's sick
Yet Bozos stay:
Yep, we remember yesterday!

Suddenly, Dems in power
Like we used to be
But in shadows
Are hangovers: Thee
Are loyal to GWB.

Why cannot G go?
He only brays!
When his sway's too strong
Soon our song is:

Jesters? Nay!
Sense shall deem
His rightist cures:
"So Far Away!"
We Bozos scheme
And he shall pay
So I'll sure drink to Yesterday...

Whenever the Bozos say....

Janis, Here In Tanis...: A Bozo Ark Song

Just another word
For nothing left
To loot.

Just another word
For nothing right
To scare.

Just another word
For those bereft
To fear.

Just another word
For they of might
To destroy.

Just another word
For crawling efts
To commission.

Just another word
For banning tights
To sanctify.

Just another word
For a saviour deft
To deny.

Just another word
For torture's in sight
To gratify.

Just another word
For victors crests
To glisten.

Just another word
For constrictor fights
To employ.

Just another word
For burnt out bests
To bear.

Just another word
For darkness sights
To shoot.

Just another word
For each insight
To stun.

Just another word
For how we slept
To death.

In A Trice, Thy Name Is Rice: A Bozo Starch Song  ( Click For Demo MP3 )

There's a Middle Eastern chorus
That we always sang before us
To drive a stake in dramas
That don't include that Hamas.

Here I play Schroeder's piano
Sit like Lucy long ago
But we must not change the borders
Like before, I follow orders.


Now, Vladdy, you must know
That your freedom's just a show
Please, to let me and G know
How to muzzle all our press.

Here I am at Sciences Po
And I must say that although
We disagree, I'm bigger
Than old plantation niggers!


No, I'm not a bit appalled
To be seein' Cardinals
'Coz a bishopric's distress
Must be put down to stem cells.


Bear the triumph, sure her fate
Our Secretary of State
Wears a coiffure like a fez
And bears coffins from our Prez.

And on CNN I guess
That she's gotten all the bait
That a worm that's not impressed
Gets by catchin' fish too late...



Who's got the latest thrill?
Condi will!
Who's just a pig that shills?
Condi swill!
Who's West pays the bill?
Condi chill!
Who's Jack will bash that Jill?
Condi fills!

A Great Leader's Ode To The Mother Lode: A Bozo Dynasty Song  (Click For Incomplete Demo MP3)

Now Poppy Il Sung
Was a grand old coot
Went to Texas out of Yale
Just to get some loot.
But he couldn't quite give up
On that Ivy League
So he made his nose as brown
As that Texas T.

When Poppy came to run
For the White House door
He got stuck up on old money
Like he'd done before
He came out second best
Like a sagebrush bunny
To an actor from out West
Who could play more sunny.

So Poppy had to wait
For his clutch at chance
In a VP's chair
For the next Dutch trance
He kept well out of doodoo
And gave voice to comics
Seemed the right sort of voodoo
Il Sung economics.

And Poppy got to star
In his very own prequel
First they called it, "Will Not Stand"
Then decided, "Best To Lam"
Tho' Manuel and Old Saddam
Didn't seem too much like equals
They were both supposed to brand
Poppy II: The Sequel.

Yep, Poppy got a turn
At being CEO
Yet he couldn't help
But say, "No, no new tax dough!"
So he ended 'pon a heap
When the downturn slashed
He lasted just one term
And then was ash.

'Tho the il Sungs seemed
Like a very bad dream
There was also Poppy's son
Snortin' coke for fun.
Whew! The Saviour came
In redemption waves:
"These born again il Sungs
Must be all I can save".

Back to Texas renewed
Went the il Sung brood
Where they gave the rich men
All they could to vote
But the terrorists struck
Like some bunco pitch men
Makin' Poppy's boy remote
Very like a schmuck.

But the latest il Sung
Wasn't phased by his errors
He just put them down
To the war on terror.
Not the one in planes
But the one that snacks
On retaking Saddam's ground
In sequel called Iraq.

Thus thousands had to die
For a son fast asleep
But he didn't mind the lies
Or the mission creep
Or the bad guys still at large
Or the sums so steep
From every bill he charged
To win on the cheap.

In a country insecure
From the terror stun
Not one had left the gumption
To see beyond the gun. 
S'pose it's better to be sure
Of the life to come
Or depose all your freedom
To an old man's sons.

Well, they said I couldn't do it
But I'm Kim Jong Il
My scientists just gave me
Nukes to pay my bills.
And I'll try my best to foist 'em
On that number one son
Of some guy we used to know as
Poppy Il Sung.

Give Peace A Slantje: A Bozo Revolution Song (Hear The MP3 )


American way
We the people say
Or we'll make you replay
All our wars from today.

These are not phony farce
Like Grenada
But the deaths that they bring
Are as real as parades are.


How many smackas
Did take Sir Paul Macca?
Well, the answer is none
All peace chance is gone
See in our prime time zones
Has beens hold up the phone.

Penny Lane's a carver caving to the hourglass
Disporting people's princesses
Who're not our queen
While Our Tony reloads magazines
Reflectin' his dull sheen.
He's so keen!



With the Bozos I can play
And not seem always crass
What remains of our day
Are the pains in the ass
Who will not say to gays
You'll not get the gas...

Who pays the journalists
To shill with surprise
Their fashionista lists
Of commericals in disguise?

Who says we give a damn
Or remember Vietnam
Or dismember all I ams
With distemper holograms?


We all do!
That's the part we cannot sue
When we see it in review
We might just begin anew.

So I write my songs in fun
When this love of war does stun
And the barrels of a gun
Are the sins we never shun.



Dies my anchor adinoidal
On the make from CNN
To upset those paranoidal
Foxes back at war again.

Feedin' The DNC Lead: A Bozo CC Song

What does it mean?
Howard Dean?
Some comrades rise
For tirade's prize
It's stayin' losers
Not swayin' choosers.


There's no disgrace
In bein' pious
But the place for Dems
Is one of ideas
They're not all nice
Progress theorems.



The musique's fine
So long as it reminds
Me of a country poorer
For being surer.

The pigs are flyin'
There's no denyin'
But their sort of lyin'
Ain't testifyin'
To the future
Of finding cures.


Me, I'm a sidewinder
A grassroots grinder
Waitin' for Godot
To say to 'em: "Go!"
That's the reminder
Win's the place to show.



The simplest song
Is where I belong
On top, not clocked,
Awaitin' gongs
Not ever in shock
Not always wrong.

For He Is An English-Speaking People: A Bozo Director Song (Hear The Demo Rap)

Give us the jaunty
Directing in his past
He's our sort of hack
Who oversaw frauds
And a few death squads
In places where he shacked.

'Coz the warnings
Are coming thick and fast
Goss he elbows
Old Mueller's track
These fifth-rate cons
Are what is on
They're mostly out of whack.

In the forward march
Where a stately arch
Does hits my head a smack
Doh, it's not in the guise
Of some wayward spies
Nope, the big surprise
Is Pyongyang starch!

And my leaders'll take
All the ideas that you have
And soon make 'em indecent
To pay off AMT scabs
And the ones that are recently
Arrivals in rehab
Will be put to the stake!

So bring us reform
Or the threats we won't storm
Which we'll try to fill
'Mongst the cracks
While our Ariel shleps
On the housing steppes
To payoff for pull back.

Well, I'm learnin' the reason
Of Middle East regions
El Alamein's my Fed
So I'll have to bin Laden
Or revisit paradin'
That flacks the dread
As dead as Monty.

At The Peace Hotel: A Bozo Per Diem Song (Hear The Demo MP3)

Red Chinese are sent
To save our bacon
First, from Column A
We're not forsakin'
Taiwan, just our bent
Prez of Columns B!

Me and Babe sing hymns
To the USA
But our acronyms
Are what pays today.
CPA distress
CIA no less.


He doesn't like 'em
And they don't like his
Don't cease, buy dollars
Rings out, please collar!

Bush family style
Smirkin' after smile
Ignores the beatin'
Furies are eatin'
White House journalists
Off message menu.

"Babe must be low rent
Too much relaxin
Guess axis of evil
Stops the taxin
Drops the devil
See, what's left we spent."

Bush Meunieres: A Bozo Visitation Song

The latest NATO craze
Damning with faint praise...

When Sammy's jammin'
'Neath les escargot
It's best to forget
Unsecured cargo.

All dips coin a phrase
Mutatis mutandis:
"We'll overlook your mutant
Let's sell the Chinese candies."

Midships start to fret
But not about sextants
Much more the extent
Of pirate slammin'.

Some oversee Kyoto
With delicate frowns
Some worship the vetoes
From chugalug towns.

It's all a strain in
This biz of trainin'
Full 26 score
Tho' mostly offshore.

And the salad days?
Waiters, stun on phase...

The Three Effaced By Eve: A Bozo Morality Song

When swallows return
To Bratislava
The swallows burn
In Vatican hollows:

Meet and greet Vlad, The Jailer's
Anorak pal George, No Bailer,
Who declare that freedom
Is anti-terror pacts
Drawn up over snacks.

Eats are sausages
Aged in school Caucasus
Like half bottles of Cava
Toastin' to fifth-rate age:

"Tell me, Vladdy!
When your press gangs
Had to be De Sadey
Weren't you ashamed?"
"Ti know my soul, G!
With values of Caddy
The shape of things
To come is tamed."

"Tell me, Georgy!
When your CIA beats
All oppo's they meet
Aren't you ashamed?

Texas T's my soul, V!
Morals do not say
What goes on strings
At Gitmo Bay."

In a Roma hospital
No readin' Das Kapital
Or seedin' the blame better
Than killin' off French letters:

"Abortion is the Holocaust!
Homos are the new terror!"
A dying Slav slings errors
To sell two souls to Faust.

Trading On Today: A Bozo Indexing Song

I don't need security
Or bits of purity
Or the last grass shack
I want to make it back.

When Babe comes to visit
She's not what inhibits
It's just what goes slack
I want it back.

Love starts with a sway
Careens through today
Like a shot of smack
I want to make it back.


What goes out in bags
My bank account lags
What I still don't earn
Learn, I want it back.

No shame in caring
Or eating herring
Down they do go, crack!
I want to make it back.

Babe keeps me onside
Why, I can't elide
Glad she shares the snacks
I want it back.

I could be a rake
To pull on the take
But stuck in 8-track
I want to make it back.

So buy up these songs.
Be blessed, belong,
Or be out of whack
I want it back.


I want to make it back
Not all the way back
But all I gave 'way
I want it back.

Whacks Up The Axis: A Bozo Proliferation Song

Don't need no protractor
To sell a reactor
Do need a soul
Overseen by assholes.

The kind that pray
Down capital way
Are bound to be shakin
For words of appeal
Like liberty bells
Or tax cut makin
But fear's their shpiel.

They once claimed Kiev Rus
Had the right to choose
But on first sight that mad
Vladimir was glad
To see what he could fell.

So the trees came down
Upon an evil axis
Of those who had nothing
And those who liked bluffing
Faithful kicked in like stuffing
Out of Europe in taxis.

Came dressed in slick boots
'Coz they lacked the recruits
The one under attack
Did not have one smack
But the ones on atone
Were building all alone
Real mushrooms to cloud.

Uneasy wears the crown
'Neath the Turin shroud
Where miracles seem to mock
Terms that run out with clocks.

So Far, Gov Love: A Bozo Flexibility Song

Sinkin' here on Medicaid
Stinkin', all my sores won't save
Enough for a nursing home
'til I'm bankrupt and alone.

So I went to my Gov
Who tried to convince me
It's nothin' but a cinch
This flexibility
I said, "Do I get care?"
He said, "No, but you'll be scared!
The pinch cure's agility!"

So I went to my doc
Who left me full of shock:
"Your kinda case is hard
But I could put you in traction
If you'll sign here these pards
Which say you ain't a faction
Playin' class action cards".

So I went to my Senator
Who saw my chills as grist:
"Until we bury Frist
See, you're impurity
Insurance men we jail
My sorta security's
What they now call third rail".

So I wrote to the President:
"Will you be my friend?
My lack of health care's
Got me at wit's end!"
But he didn't write back
'Coz I don't own shares
Or forgot to pretend.

In this richest country of all
Our flags stand appalled
By the latest terror tricks
They can't afford to be sick. 

Ferry Rugged Cross Berry: A Bozo Commandments Song

Once I prayed to the Supremes
To make it all seem a dream
Of conspiracy
Until spinners team
Mortar rounds with tyranny.

Diana divas encore
She sang of love lights
Never meant to be children
A world full of slights
And irresponsible men.

Mary conceived keen
Joseph slept, but Magdalene
She'll soon be at retail cold:
Settlin' scores unsold?
One whore missin' hearts of gold.

Flo, don't ya know, she's long dead
Remindin' some younger heads
To sing three-part harmony
To votes 5-4
Malfunctions galore.

Hoedown! Courts 'tho impartial...
Who recalls what is martial?
That Thurgood or Matt Dillon?
Less pure gods try out shillin'
Ten rights will top the billin'.

At The Checkpoint, What The Heck? Point: A Bozo Accountability Song

The hands are out
The warnings about
Driving too fast
Will soon be past.

You're number one
With a bullet
Father's first son
Silver gullet.

The sentries fire
A car goes home
With dead spyer
Your freedom comes.

Alpha omega
Story Sgrena

Write your story
Ends with gory

Mood Eschewed: A Bozo Atmosphere Song

I'm here in the sticks
I don't want no licks
When I torture pricks
My bag's out of tricks.

One need is for love
But mine is a trove
Of words, that damn all
Attracts here this Paul:

"The arms that you see
Are like you and me
We don't want to watch
Break china or patch."

Babe says it's not that
We're gettin' too fat
She thinks "Strike a match
Fink Simon Legree!"

Me, I'm stuck on harm
Some charms we offer
To bent fear coffers
We shear what we meant.

Off liberation
Pause hibernation
Flee laws for a dime
Guffaws of our time.

The Empirical Syrian: A Bozo Levant Song

Assad from Mossad!
C'mon, you didn't know?
My secret's circumspection
I was Baathist long ago.

When I pull out blind alleys
Headin' for Bekaa Valley
Hizbollah at my direction
Well, I'll surely resurrect 'em.

They say it's a cedar
Revolution in the air
I feel like Vaughn Meader
There's no career fair.

Tho' God is my callin'
My first nod is stallin'
For two pints I'm broadly
In hock to the Saudis.

"He looks like a Bashir!"
Said my Dad once to Nassar
"You're just a souk masher!"
Said the houris of Lascar.

Maybe drivin' for Nascar?
No, I got to be bad
By tunin' my forks
To the haters of pork.

So I'm stuck in withdrawl
I get nil points withal
My sort's for the chop
In full halal shops.

Wilford Brimley's Tash: A Bozo Gasp Song

My horse's ass is boltin'
He's a mass revoltin'
Up on the East Side
Hates govs of the world
On the gees' fleece side
Sheep love Johnny Reb.

Flags in a whirl
Like the best of debs
The ones I can ride
My axis brides
Best at needlepoint
Closeted checkpoints.

In a land of spin
Let's replay some Finns:
"Without the assholes...
There wouldn't be shit!"
Bound to be a hit
Once we beat parole.

Who's for the World Bank?
That Carly, that Wolfie
Maybe that Nancy Hanks?
We can only give thanks
To powers of confession
Rainin' a delicate mess on:

Iraq, the veto's Sunni
Bodies aren't too funny
SS, they might see us that way
Once the crisis of reform replays.

Greenspan, he's not a hack
Just an old man of stubble
Financin' every bubble
By debt, death, and trouble.

Then comes old Wilford
Who never met a con
That couldn't be on
Medicare, a higher price
Than dyin' at home
In a trice, like in Rome
We're left to record.

Excess Appalls: A Bozo ISP Song

The road to perdition
Is extreme rendition
But the condition
That troubles me
Is what appalls
In the new Dutch comm law.

The ISP of Gorilla
Has sued the cops for some fill
A matter of taste, or slops
Is the money they waste
On the taps of technology
To plug gaps in psychology.

Please listen in, you're wrong
Both xs4all and the spyin' tongs
When you give up freedom
It's not recompensed
It's not off expensed
It's just greedom.

In the power boudoir:
"Please bare the terror cell
Well, it might be, we can't tell
So we shall take a fee
And guard our MPs
That's today's pissoir."

It's a sort of sieve
Never brings 'em in
Forever on the rim
The legacy of Wim
And Marlboro Slim
Commodes of bas relief.

Gwin's Button Frayed, Light The Torch!: A Bozo Memory Song

Ready now, Harris Blue
Tweeds I miss, construe
Well worn, get ahead
Be my Dad, now dead.

I'm off for the Isle
No tix, but a pile
Of ones on the aisle
I remember with bile...

Steven G.

Here's a kind of a game
Whose end is Steve G
The G must stand for Goebbels
And 'Ganda proper
From the agencies
G's Government ennobles.

Steve's a Deputy
In the Justice D
His boss wrote many briefs
That led to detention
And that sense of relief
From Geneva Conventions:

"Why there's not a viewpoint
That we aim to imply
When the host is bought off
To give winks on the sly
For such schemes we anoint
Don't confirm or deny!!!"

Yet Steve's just begun
Like Bradburys of yore
He's at 451
And he burns for some more
See the science in books
Is now sport for Steve's cooks.

Stevedores don't make offers
They take cues from our Prez
To bring on their dogs
To threaten duress
Plus some story in blogs
For our geese of a press.

When the lies fail to work
Some don't 'round on these jerks
Some don't begin to grieve
Over phony wars' work
Some would rather be Steve
And enjoy all the pork.

Guess the freedom we have
Is a Bradbury curse
That tramples our rights
And serves GIs a hearse
While Steve's pigs in their nave
Pray for only much worse.

Unmissed Then Late, Then Our Bliss: A Bozo Sage Song

"We were all wrong"
Said the famous old man
"We thought cutting tax would be keen
Who? Why me and the hacks
That you might call has beens".

"Sure, we'd sing the same song
That we have 'tho it's hollow
'Coz our show is so hallowed
'Til we all are long gone
Then disasters follow".

"Econ groupie's my brand
Learned at feet of Ayn Rand"
Now his soup will us drown
In the answers and frowns
Of his shyster's demands.

When on Wall Street your drive
Comes, but clout don't arrive
Then you think that you can
Be ahead if you're live
Dead, you'll just be Greenspan.

Reid Below The Bullrushes: A Bozo Leadership Song

In DC there's Bill Frist
Who always arrives
Like the trains of fascists
To kill off many lives.

When your wife's brain is dead
Not much more can be said
Nor can you feel too keen
To turn off her machine.

It's a grim sort of choice
Not one bit like cheap noise
From sick pols bending low
To exploit letting go.

But the last thing you need
While you struggle with grief
Is some coward called Reid
Making crime of belief.

Be Real, Never Deal: A Bozo Politics Song

Politics? compromise?
Doesn't work with these guys
Their own goal iteration:
A greedy Christian nation.

They'll stop at nothing
They're sure, not bluffing
Courts gettin' in their way
Our Reichstags of today.

So, no, Nicholas Kristof
Hillary doesn't matter
She's the new Malenkov
On loan to Alma Ata.

Come upon their latest campaign:
Savin' a woman with no brain
"The sanctity of life outweighs
The sanctity of marriage".

So says Tom DeLay
Whose very last breath
Will not quite gainsay
Inevitable death.

Their ends aren't violence
'Tho their means are past tense
They'll go by auto-da-fe
For crossin' the USA.

One Tube, One Rube: A Bozo Sinking Song

The doc says too high
Some might just deny
That ol' ldl
Not me (sigh!)
I'm on the level.

It could be the stress
Of life in a mess
That's my country
Or why coventry
Still rains bombs, I guess.

Horns blow at midnight
A song of solons' fright
That plays out too dark
SUVs won't park
Fundin' terror's a right.

My chest wants to seize
Up arteries please
That's up chucked before
Like the fog of war
Truth's gone to appease.

There's a way to vary
My fate could be Terri
Insights are unknown
I think on my own
A simple verity.

The Minority's My Priority: A Bozo Heterodox Song

The priest says grieve
But I don't receive
A single blessing
From confessing.

The rabbi says build
But I don't lilt
Or sing a lot
For them have nots.

The imam says obey
But I don't play
A single song
Just to belong.

You see I'm a pigeon
Shot down by religion
Who cannot deceive
Or begin to believe.

Where do I fit?
In my country, I'm shit
My ideas don't flit
My brain's full of wit.

Does life have meaning?
Without such keening
I'd say no, but leaning
Ain't for the impure.

Is death here for sure?
Yep, it comes with age
And no great courage
To end as sewage.

Interregnum, We're Numb: A Bozo Balancing Song

Babe returns to bash my ego
"You're off playin' Stratego
Against weak weighin' foes
Who pander to Schiavo".

Now, Babe, how can we grow?
"Take off the gloves
You're right for love
Maybe, that's my say so".

It's not a style, fighting
I'm more of a sulker
Who's gotten a bit bulkier
Not duckin' glasses' plighting.

So we two talk the stuff out
We think this and that about:

Babe: "Bush is sinkin' fast!"
Me: "Agreed, he won't last!"

Babe: "Our country's got a flaw!"
Me: "Yep, forgot rule of law!"

Me: "I'm sick of religion!"
Babe: "You're full of derision!"

Babe: "Girls of The Congo!"
Me: "UN Sex Bongos!"

Me: "The Dems stand for nothin'!"
Babe: "What's somethin' without 'em?"

Me: "We're hated all over!"
Babe: "Let's push off the covers!"

Babe: "Farewell, Prince Rainier!"
Me: "Spare hell Short's piano!"

Together: "Let's make love!
We'll clang like bells above
Our way to heaven proves
There's life in peaceful grooves!"

The Goods Of Friday:  A Bozo Atheist's Song

I'm seeing a wiz
In the politics biz
Who don't need fizz
Of divides mister
And mizz, not blisters
To delay grifters
Takin' the piss.

He comes from Kyrgyz
Stan's his name
He could be a drifter
He doesn't need shame
He likes the law neat
He don't need Akaev
He goes to the street.

He's braver than old Jebs
Who fought for slavery
That kind of knavery
Is what's left of our Rebs
Furnish polish? Enough!
Plowshares beat swords
That popes carry off.

A Christian likes his debs
Just like that man Stan
But some keep 'em down
'Coz power's a crown
To sleep in with thorns
Just like tin horns
It's such a wheeze!

The culture of life
Is woven into strife
By women, Stan wants to please
Some of whom pray
Some of whom gay
Some of whose days
Live and die in peace.

Off The Columns, Not Too Solemn: A Bozo Four By Five Song

When news is Schiavo
We should skieve O!
We might ski a foe!
We might skive O!

"Pervez, I'm now keen
To sell you F-16s
You see 'round nexus
Of jobs gone in Texas".

"Sure your doc sold
All weapons we say
Are cause for worry
But I'm not sorry
Perusal, that's old."

So why do we hide a
Few dozen deaths GI'd?
"Chain of command I'd
Lead says al-Qaeda."

"Support our troops
They mix the grime
With punishment
Cut benefits
We'll let 'em walk".

"When one Injun scarred
I went to knees at war
Worshiped the culture"
Were vultures stunned
By right to buy guns?

"I'm down to 45s
It's not fair, we thrive!"
On deaths aplenty
A tax cut pinny
Shields B's way of life.

Wolfie's At 57th and Levant: A Bozo Policymaker Song

Wolfowitz denies:
"I'm not a neocon
That's just pretty lies
Put out by less bright lights
Euro anti-Semites"

Wolfowitz decries:
"Those that were tortured
Aren't  in my culture
We believe in life
And a bit of strife".

Wolfowitz surmise:
"Well, WMD
Was yesterday
Hell, can't wait to say
Brutus, et tu fees?".

Wolfowitz espies:
"Sure, still no sharing
I'm beyond caring
Having made front rank
Of limos World Bank".

Wolfowitz replies:
"Corruption, like speeches
Helps me breed, like leeches
To whelp amnesia
Like Indonesia".

Wolfowitz arise:
"I'm not for ecstacy
Or democracy
I'm not Colorforms
Or armored uniforms".

Wolfowitz the prize:
"Off chains of command
Nope, my pee won't stand
For ICC brand
Not on this much grand".

The Mask Of Red State Death: A Bozo Wake Up Song

Dead wrong
One song:
Let's stick in the knife
To this culture of life.

Our Prez just a liar
Who builds on the death
His gilded coward's pyre
With every breath.

1,500 killed,
None can plead
Against the greed
Of one country's fear.

So bury brain dead girls
'mid Rainier's last whirl
While a killer pope
Rallies his dopes.

There's due no respect
Worth the sort of neglect
That says let all women bow
That says no Darfur now
That says get the birch
That says go to church.

It's all just a pile
Of steaming denial
A zealot's grim leer
Passes on the bill.

The Dying Kielbasa, Trying for Massa: A Bozo Papacy Song

It just ain't no race
Not a win to place
On the life to come
I prefer to be numb
Shaggin' Princess Grace.

When the stake's Mogambo
Mambo's still about lust
Harlow Christian Science
Bends down to Red Dust.

Endin' like Clark Gable
"Yeah, right wing makes you able"
Says Babe, "So run the table
Like some Bond age fable".

Sin ain't rights that appal
Compliant cardinals
Unbound teach unequal
Their verdict's a prequel:
"Life's best in sequels".

Me, I think of bra relief
Gee, I stink, but don't vary
My view, I'd be Cary
To Catch A Thief 2.

Dr. No, this Pope should go
He let 'em drown
On slavish crowns
His saints disfigured
Gays and women: niggers.

I'll be glad when he's dead
Maybe brains will play lead
Remake Duck Soup now
Pay's better than vows
Or praying that cows.

4 x 5 Cull Papal Bull: A Bozo Civilization Song

There's no hope in dope!
Or for this late Pope
Perhaps we might learn
From his last sojurn...

Let's pace commands
Of supply, demand
We pay for both sides.
We take this in stride.

Because brains on hold
Stake, our life unfolds
To seek love insight
Songs of OV Right.

Must fish shoes, why that?
They're but barber flats
'Coz buzz cuts, laid out
Pretty much clam snouts.

Condoms make us glide
Slake our porn asides
Drawn on venture we
Love next century.

Fly now you pigeon
Beyond religion
Please land on the free
Go home, just like me.

The Lieder Of Leaders: A Bozo 5 x 5 Termite Song

"I got to get judges
Covered in my sludge
Being fried like me
I want 'em to rule
What I tell 'em, see."

"Better half hire quick
Wife and family
To bring expertise
They render verdicts
Once filled up with Gs."

"Bad media writes
I'm ex-pest control
They just play a role
To raise me more scratch
From the Saviour batch."

"Voters bring me chips
 I go off on trips
Can't say who the heck
Wrote out that blank check...
Who's liftin' my grips?"

"You know my burden's
To be brain dead, or
Exploit Terri stands
Behind my curtain
Like tax cut debtors."

"But I can't go to Rome
Not my House, a home
John Paul don't fleece us
Our profits stay cool
Buy calls on Jesus!"

"No more of these fibs!"
There came a reply
Not blamed on the libs
Or banned like two guys
In big pharma cribs.
What downed his steeple?
Wee termites just say:
"One weevil vexed us
Now carted away:
Delay from Texas."

Hem Lord Haw Haw: A Bozo Dem Song

My party tis of thee
Sold out to Coventry
Of thee I bring
Dead GIs on the side
Tax cuts all bonafide
Committees don't deny
Bluff puppets on a string...

When we speak of realms
Oft forgotten Helms
Made right wing whackos
Smoke big tobacco.

Up on the Hill today
Appeared his protege
Facin' jokes of Dems
Takin tokes? From PM!

Who's more dead than odd
Why Senator Dodd
Who brays, "I agree with you!
The UN's way off cue!"

Bets off,  misconstrue
Sho' nuff Dems are Jews
Who dance at Curias
Trance bows to Altria.

What's left of their moltin'
Is this disgrace called Bolton
Not one's really appalled
Just like Buchenwald.

In times of yore, we'd claim,
"These clowns have no shame!
They kill for rich guts
Why vote in such nuts?"

In times of terror, we maim:
"You're not qualified
But my heart justifies
Sins of sanctify".

Left a great routine
Like a stale saltine
Crushed fine, out of hand
By a party that stands
For nothing, for everything.

Unimpeachable, Often Unreachable: A Bozo Nominee Song (Hear The MP3)

When Popes pass on, I can't rely
On prayer alone, or old school ties
Our country's gone a bit awry.


Let's spread the fear, like alibis
Our gifts to the rich, or Osama's cry
Our dead in a ditch, they're just GIs.


Our government's out to lunch
Terrorful, aggro jaunty
They spike reporters' punch
With death squad Negroponte.

You know, I fill with wayward flies
My cover tunes and torturin' spies
My President's iPod on the sly.


Rewind be smart, I wanna buy
WMDs hung out to dry
In fuck-up, no-fault Rummy sties.


So that's the song I'm bound to ply
I'll piss off our unfriendly skies
And crash and burn as freedom dies.


Babe, let me say 'coz I don't lie
I want to be, I can't guess why
A kiss-up, kick-down sort of guy.

Under Bilkwood: A Bozo Market Song

The markets way on down
The sharks et my crowns
Now they promise anew
To make me less blue.

When do I make the max?
Or lobby agin death tax?
Without a bit of dosh
I'm reduced to the cosh...

Seeking right to berth
On the SS Delay
Shrieking fights, no mirth
On the bulls* today.

Comes free and random
Yolk Prez: 700 grandom
Not so hard to be free
Post-coke: bankruptcy.

Must be a myth them
Shorts of IBM
Hot pants rhythm
Morning after schism.

Babe thinks botulism
A Bush catechism:
"We'll rove flush, wild and free
On Asian subsidy!"

At The NRA, The Guns Say Gone By August: A Bozo Lieder Song

There goes a streaker!
Up and down, like slugs
He wants to judge and bug
And we say glug, glug, glug...

Where now a drowner?
High and low, like waves
He pants for Jesus saves
And we pray rave, rave, rave...

Spare me an idle bore?
Point and shoot, like rage
He rants for a 12 gauge
And we may page, page, page...

Call for Philip Morris?
Drag and drop, like mice
He recants and kills the lice
And we flay slice, slice, slice...

"He slants to be a downer
Pinned and Nelsoned, like Speaker
He sings and we his chorus
Shall stay rotten to the core".

FECAl Matter: A Bozo Manslaughter Song

If when in Rome
Your condom roams
Then Papal dread:
"Fie! Hell's your home!"

If when you share
Some files you dare
Forget to pay

Then at the flicks
A bouncer's pick
Will put your head
Upon their stick.

So you can guess
Why some Reps say:
"It's all BS!
This caribou is high-tech fuel
He shall arrest whatever's cool
And that's the mess'
From Tom DeLay!".

No One Expects... The Lady of Spain: A Bozo Atheistic Song

Isn't it a pity?
The iniquity!
See Lady Of Spain's
Backin' gays again.

Sixteen Benedict
Seems cut to the quick
He prayed and got truth
Once he left Hitler Youth.

When you're in transition
There's no Inquisition
Or a Quisling position:
All beer hall derision.

In the USA
Gays no equity
They can't be married
Or foster kids: Abhorred!
So to please the Lord
Well worn lines don't vary:
"Give us States Rights Day!"

Well, we know condoms
Spare capacity
Til the evan g's
Drink a toast: "Darkees!"
Then we find what comes
In their far right drums.

Go with exploitation?
No, just saturation
Of the moral cues
That some call values
Or murder the Jews
Or put gays in camps
Or kill blacks like Gramps.

So I can't go along
Here's my sort of song:

Lady of Spain, I adore you
Right from the night I first saw you
Our right's soon to be through
What else can our parts do?

Lady of Spain, no appealing
The far right's lips aren't concealing
Their hatred remains revealing
Lady of Spain, I love you.

Night of crystal, smashed in blenders
But Madrid says: "Return to sender!"
Freedom throbbing, victims sobbing, injustice so far
Fearful cowards G and B on parade:

Lady of Spain, I adore you
You stay out of war and more you
Screw neocons and new Popes, too
What else could any heart do?

Lady of Spain, don't start dealing
Si, the right wing's unappealing!
All their lies and all their stealing
Lady of Spain, I love you.

FDR, The Teenage Hacker: A Bozo Security Song

"Sorry, Gerhard,
But my SS
An old new deal
Won't be like Iraq
No time for B's lie
Our piece of the pie
Sold, like peace, like crack
Tuffet? Buffettless".

"The only thing we have to fear
Is fear itself, and Landon jeers
I said to VP Cactus Jack:
"It not like Hoss to be on crack
So it must be Texan: Smack!".

(He gives three cheers to war
The lessons learned
The Hessions spurned
Just like they'd been before.

Yes, terror goes along
Like buddies spared a dime
No, dead before their time
O I wish it was a song.)

"Soon there came my little dog Fala
To a brainy teen from Uppsala..."

Vlad's Lesser Enabler: A Bozo Anniversary Song

O yeah, we like colonies
O yeah, we hate felonies

(Gee Vlad, you're like me
Bad Gee, you like me!
And we two just ain't sad
Nope, polyphony!)

"When your man of steel
Shot them all with trials..."
"When your tax cut reels
Song and dance denial..."

(Don't be so bad, Vlad!
I'll not be glad, George!
Right wing's so rad, rad
Put all in the Norge)

But they gathered today
To be friends, V-E Day
To get down a win
Compoundin's no sin
Until cashed away
They left us a fin.

Filibuster's Lackluster: A Bozo Warning Song

It's all about religion
And the sexes of pigeons
Who cower in fear
Rats with wings.

It's not about separation
Or the law of nations
Cast off as severe
When the choirs sing.

It's all about imposing
Winning, not losing
Whose bower austere
Fiats sure sting.

It's not about torture
Or the least bit impure
Who's gay will bear
Flat out stringing'.

It's all about mandates
Only women as mates
Arts less than mere
Mattes are swingin'.

It's not about freedoms
We rule, don't need 'em
So that's why we're here
All shat, all denyin'...

My country we see
Well covered in pee
I damn it and cheer
For fat's now fryin'.

Newsweek, Not This Week: A Bozo Estate Song

The press when they screw up
The mess that's their jobs
Distress theirs now cues up
The blessed, the yobs.

Perhaps they reflect
On just how far below
These chaps that reject
All but rich men's woes.

Or are they all fifth rate?
Under covered, all clowns
Who would rather berate
Than give up mighty crowns.

I think not, but I'm one
Of the literate types
Who shrink from go on
To this gutter of snipes.

The Curtiz Curtain: A Bozo Chargin' Song

Errol, you must fight again
Corral, or the Frist kin
Will kill off your Custer
Moral? Filibuster.

Sitting Bull, it's no more grander
Than a bit of same old pander
The stagers set our fracture
I'll age, I bet, and massacre.

Geronimo, the right won't go
God's their sorta shmo
A dream of burial
And schemes of Ariel.

Abrahamoff, your tribes aren't toffs
They're just a touch, easy, soft
Nonesuch is the pig's way
Made pest free by DeLay.

Newsweek, you hurt our image
But torture, that's no damage
So cue up Reagan corn
At the Little Big Horn.

Kiddies, you better not look
Coz our debt's on your hook
We won the War on Terror
By the Margin Of Error.

Religion, killed 'em all off
Pigeons fucked the gulls off
Who needs the dim sums
Of the life yet to come?

Death, seems now to glide
On waves suicide
We can't see why
Except to occupy.

Country, what does that mean?
Stunts Bush and Benedict?
Cunts we shush and lick?
Coventry's mise-en-scene?

Evil, that's what is left
Of freedom's rights bereft
The chance to be as one
Is now as then long gone.

We Won, We're Wan: A Bozo Free Trade Song

Hu Jin Tao? And how
Could you bring it on
With buckets of yuan
To spoil this dead show?

There weren't many collars
In the war on terror
Says rich man's bearer:
"Stop buying our dollars!"

Over to John Snow:
"When I was left danglin'
My Prez went spanglin'
Stars, stripes, alarm or
No cash for the armor
So bash every foe
Don't admit error!"

The bodies piled up like bonds
Talks of six, walks in fronds
George of the Jungle
Bella, Ursula, stay in step
Cut way back the taxes shlep
Gorge of the Bungle.

Slam dunk, that's the funk
We're in and don't think
That it hasn't spawned, like chinks
In stylish cut-rate shirts
To bless our dawn with spurts
Of fear, the more the merrier
Just don't import the Perrier!

Quite A Treat, Korean Beats: A Bozo Cloning Song

Now Babe and I have gone to grass
We see our Prez G's lesser ass
Shall save two souls for worlds to come
By paving roads with right-wing scum.

G: "Uncomfortable with cloning"
Two souls he's now disowning:
Babe: "His God's a sort of poacher"
Me: "He lacks the votes for cloture!"

Me: "Let's not give into his spin"
Babe: "It's not like we live to win"
G: "We want a culture of life"
Two souls must become man and wife.

Babe: "Shall gays be buried as they please?"
G: "We want to see democracy!"
Two souls flee SS all around
Me: "The prime Santorum hunting ground!"

Two souls  bound up identical
Me: "They feel it in their ventricles"
G: "These blastocysts I saved from science"
Babe: "Geneva is for noncompliance!"

All twins, you see, are nature's clones
We love them as we love our own
In couplets we defeat such odds
For puppets there is just one sod
Who rings around the Siegfried Line.
In Babe I trust, in God I find
The end of pleasure, certainly
Kim chi be done, the end of G!

The Heckler's Hop: A Bozo Spinning Song

Where are the spies that go abroad?
Where are the crusts now thrown for God?
The bluster of our cheap First Ladies
Won't shit on Rummy's perfidies
Alas, the Belgian anarchist who throws
The pies of Keystone no one knows...

But there's no point in calls for order
I'm seeing Laura's creamed black chador
So she might spin, a burning Bush
Clear out of sight, to estates cush
To flog for sins, like maladies
Her bit of spite at freedom's larder.

Our country fights to kill off terror
But never shall admit one error
It's not about the Babel Tower
It's all about a sneering power
That buys itself a Crawford ranch
To hew some logs or jig carte blanche
Such mess be clear and goes no further
Than torture, stonewalls, yes, and murder!

They say a hero is Pat Tillman
Who gave up millions to be killed
By his own side, to me he's billed
A dickhead zero dead in war
His stupid death should be a joke
Lashed to the spin, a pig in poke
Just like in 'Nam, the lies keep score
They double cross the parents sores.

A nation of pigs, a nation of fears
A ration of swigs, and Nascar gears
Who only swear in fealty
To any unreality
Our leaders shill, don't clone 'em, please
Their breed kills off democracy...

Daniel, He Leaves Tonight, We're Not The Same: A Bozo Tragedy Song

We are playing cards.
A number of games
Like hearts and crazy eights
Smoking joints to tame
Nights 'long the ocean.

We three play til slumber
Overcomes the wish
To be the first
To catch big fish
To date our thirst.

We wake to tidal motion
Beltin' down caffeine
Getting our gear serene
To be early on the scene
With gaffs we'll be caught.

We pull up to the pier
Get our hands stamped
Sure our catch like champs
Will be trophy lunker
Banding, ask a man who goes:

"How's the drum, the action?"
"Pretty good, spots and croakers!"
"A morning sun, the tide's high..."
"Me, I'm going home to dinner!"
"What'd he say? Beginners?"

Of course the sun was setting.
We'd slept right through big hits.
We'd dreamt of firmly pert tits.
We'd been too spinned to know
Keening or buffeting.

Now today, one of us will broker
The laws of our nation
One will write for redaction
One will die by his own hand
Shards, chums, not forgetting.

Amoral, Balmoral, Guadal, Denial: A Bozo Bespoke Song

Speaking to the Academy
There's no reward
For those about to die
Still no armor
And a few lies
About life's purity
In social security.

Speaking to the faithful
Who send in checks
They see Saviour spurt
In a DeLay T-shirt
It's in the cards
The one called death
Won appalled crowns.

Speaking to the courtroom
She wasn't just a mule
She's just another girl
Carousing luggage whirl
Did they plant it?
Or is her act cant?
Ozzys are so sure.

These seem to me
A trinity of what's wrong
With trying to belong
In places where the rich
Are swill above our ditch
While those who fight
Mail fisted by the right.

It's not the golden rule
That schools are times
It's more like the groom
To brides too wraithful
The guns, the money
The Texan takes what he sees
He shakes us all down like pee.

Brothers In Druthers: A Bozo Alliance Song

See me and my brother
Are white as can be
We'll live on each other
By our dreams of Legree
We'll take it on faith
We'll feed all you wraiths
We love tax cuttin' man
Who'll do what we can...


When the story was told
It came down to the gold
So we said, "Let's be bold!
When we take all the wealth
And we torture by stealth
It's enough for poor blacks
To be trapped in their shacks
Never IMF sold!"



And their shit hits the fan
And they build horror spans
And they hit on we can
Like Afghanistan
Like Iraq, not Iran
Like the lie Pat Tillman
Like the Chinese yuan
They're together again.

"Say there, Tony, Tony, Tony!
You're just like me, a phony!
Play fair, George, George, George!
You must be here to forge
A plan for continents dark
A man of fear and loan sharks
When you think with your noodle
There's just one who's a poodle!"

Where's the cause that they share?
It's the power not spared
To take terror to task
But please don't now ask
Just when they will go 
For their last picture show
Is as gone with the wind
And the dead men they spin.



I'm a gamine
For Africa
Beat the famine
Of Africa
I'm a traffic
Yeah, I was
On the weapons
That were because.

The Shadows Go: A Bozo Reinsurance Song

Throes are so violent!
Like throws that are meant
To distract us from defeat
Or to say "Really neat!"

Shows Thee aren't bent!
To 'ho's, see we're gents
So retract us if we cheat
Thorough quagmires complete.

Know who's the client
Spike it, when we are spent
On budding sweet meats
Thoreau makes Sunnis retreat?

Grow up, pay the rent?
Say for terror stents?
No, our God's in sheets
'Tho oro gold in the streets:

That's what in Hades
What see in Crusades
A kind of meet greet
Thou 'pined? Not worth shit.

Rendition By Architecture: A Bozo Expert View

It takes an Ouroussoff
To flush Bush's hues off
After all there's no rue soft
As switchin' the news off.

But we come to the cues of
Our culture of clues doffed
Like socks with their shoes off
It smells not like truce, gov!

So ground zero's confused off
Like yuans keep the choose off
We stay loyal and snooze off
The concrete took our muse off!!!

London Calling, Nobody's Home: A Bozo Terrorism Song

"The war on terror goes on."
We never say what is wrong
With the billions we spend
There is no terror end
Only death for weak and strong.

Al-Qaeda is but one more knife
Thrust by those who see this life
As worse than piddling sums
So some say, "They are scum!
Our culture of life shall come."

What a fine-laced denial
Like Guantanamo trials
For the ones who are vexed
By the kind of same sex
That gets killed off with style.

O, no, let's hear from God
Not the one who's a sod
But the one who connives
To despair all our lives
Doesn't care what goes on.

Is it London calling?
Or Madrid, or Bali
Or bombers in alleys
Or appalling G. Bush
Or slumbering cush?

We're attacked by religions
For whom we are clay pigeons
Some would worship a son
Some would worship a gun
All deserve our derision.

"The war on terror is won."
By thinking, not shrinking
By sharing the blame
By questions, by shame
By daring ere we're all undone.

The Gleneagle's Barely Legal: A Bozo Summit Song

I wanna dance on the G-8 grate
Out of poverty I'll date
A girl who's keen for me
To have 0.5 of her GDP.

Babe, she fills out DD
But what I want is fees
Here's how I relate:
Bullets with Live8.

Bonne chance is a summit
Where most dadgummit
Are serving the rich
Tearfully, but hear their pitch:

Ooh!!! The bombs strike London
So salmon from the Tay
Get put off one more day
Get eaten: a fun run.

My GDP, it makes Babe ill
Order morning after pills
Our borders secure, but spills?
Trackin' down railroad shills.

This is our fate, a trance
If your gal says you can't
Enough to make you rant
For a G-8 bluff.

Eight men out of style:
Why worry? Who's riled?
Beat margin of error
Cue up war on terror.

Dodging The Plame: A Bozo Responsibility Song

The flames of Bush mislaid their match
Like terrorists they never catch
Or treasure troves of WMD
Rove named ere outing Ms. Val P.

Tho' Presidents with cause to fire
Are left to parse, no words to speak
About a fearful right-wing spire
Who didn't pause, just took a leak.

One brave reporter nearly drowned
Refused to squeal of grounds for crime
The other one he made a deal
Obeyed the law and sourced on time.

Now who remembers just what for
2,000 died, was there a war?
Our press is lost along with youth
It cost too much, to tell the truth.

"What, Naming's A Flaw? And Against The Law?": A Bozo Presidential Playground Song

If you work for me
Message: turn on dime
Lo! You better not
Commit a crime.

When you torture shnooks
I know they're just slime
'Tho you better not
Commit a crime.

In Iraq bad spooks
Presaged war sublime
Freedom Medals don't 
Commit a crime.

Architect's new looks
Often strew like grime
But my stone walls won't
Commit a crime.

We are not to blame!
See how well I rhyme
Lines from old shell game
With commit a crime.

Supremely Krispy Kreme: A Bozo Nominee Song

Oh Mr. Roberts, you pleased the boss
Anointed next Supreme
So far you seem a dead palm tree
Star crossed by Krispy Kreme.

This white man cometh to be praised
While staying calm and cool
He wrote of course that Roe v. Wade
It must be overruled.

So Dems will vote upon His Honor
They'll wince and go along
Because they've seen the coroner
A-cinching up minority
Whose clinches are the kind of gong
That stand or sit where they belong
To hear the song: majority!

Sphinxing, Jinxing: A Bozo War Song

Here in Sharm-el-Sheikh
Babe and I attend a wake
Full of bodies twisted
By bombs of purists
We walked away as tourists
Thankfully beat this tsouris.

But the houris keep coming
They're not shot by bobbys
They're hot against lobbies
They can't explain, in summing:

Drain our desert of all oil
See Allah grind in the toil
Of serving Rummy's male fists
Of swerving to save Rove
From harm.

Gain a bit for reproval
Stain with shit the removal
Of forces worn from liars cares
Of course there are no armor spares.

Babe turns on the charm:
"We bought a room in temples
Semper fi's so simple
It makes us strong
It kills off all wrongs".

Me, I'm dead, force of arms
Ringing in my ears
Stinging sighs and cheers
Are all that separates my glove
From fission, from lands of love.

Bokassa's Shuttle: A Bozo In Space Song

A billion here, a billion there
Sooner, later cupboard's bare
The war we won
Agin' the yuan
One violent extremist
Invaded our home
Flaked off the foam
Charges were dismissed.

In a management culture
The circling vultures
Cash out, dash about
With 2D and 3D no one sees
Who does this to we
Who make our best career
In the passion of fear
Pullouts next year.

The robots we arm
Infiltrate, then they harm
Is it bombs they lob
Or a lack of jobs?
We send seven aloft
On missions of state
The haves will not seem soft
The waves are all have not.

Deranging comes evermore
Wings and prayers galore
Asleep we are slummin'
For body bags, in summing
Sparkling great powers measure
Splendors of leisure
Diadems of fission
Snafus of arranging.

Appointment, Man Of Horror: A Bozo Diplomacy Song

Recess, recess
How revoltin'
Like world respect
We've been a-moltin'
For our lame Prez
Why his best guess
Is just some more
Of screw you, heck
It's not as though
This country's loved
Nope, all are sore
At what we've done
Torturing dogs
Saudi kid gloves
Gitmo's closed bars
Illegal wars
These stained our pumps
Like shit on clogs
That came a-joltin'
Our shoes down bogs
With fifth-rate clumps
We name John Bolton.

Westmoreland Locus In Quo: A Bozo War Song

24 so far this week
Have died and no Dem speaks
About their shame before
Bush gave us this war.

Our Prez still on a spree
Of tax cuts, swill wants more
Of Iraq, pills wonder why
He cares not, fill with lies.

What once was the gwot
Has come down to rot
Some snot on kerchiefs
The Hail To The Chief.

Osama's Number 2
Is like ours, he views
Those who oppose
As soused pink hose
Or let's suppose
Housed up his nose...

Shill cur number one
Is a coward, slinking
On rhetoric, stinking
Tossin' stones, profound
A clone, an Afghan hound.

But they both kill, thousands
al-Qaeda, our dickheads
We should douse 'em
Or dose 'em with ad meds
That's for Merck to say
Or to buy off the FDA...

Sick, sick, sick, sick,
sick, sick, sick, sick,
sick, sick, sick, sick,
sick, sick, sick, sick.

The locus in quo
Is a scheme we know
How to see, now to stray
In the dream yesterday.

The Gutter Snipe's Skype: A Bozo Technorama Song

I want to see the tyranny
Of qwerty now overcome
It's like war, the sums
Don't add up, I'm mad sup
On few, not on many.

It's one thing so sick
As saving mouse clicks
Why type control any
When sigh! hype's canny
Pay for RIAA ads up.

Why be a rogue sublime
Like Pogue, company time
Makes me write, I'm old
It's shot, well over par
Defends those so purty.

Middleman wares, no troubles
Can stubble Republicans
Who take out the knife
From the double edged right
It's too much to say you can.

What's left is a swan
Cloned in the distance
By thinking persistance
It's what alts 'long our way
My lives unbound today.

Why You Must Be Fired: A Bozo Standard Song

When you've got 4 stars
Ooh and sex abounds
They'll take 'em away
Rank does not redound
But when you see stars
On the Gitmo grounds
Then who can say
Why you must be fired?

You might be free
Or an IED
Or a WMD
Or a band of liars
Is a funny old thing
With a hollow ring
Why you must be fired?

Well, you gladly spurned
Dirty Gen'l Byrnes
But you couldn't recall
When against the wall
That troops you asked for
Weren't enough to win or
You cleansed some sins
Why you must be fired?

Up and down the chain
No good men remain
In the GWOT duress
Most are in a vault
Mess? The boss don't mind
He won't ever find
Time to say my fault
Why you must be fired?

It's an old empire
Full of rash town criers
Ring the changes now
Of another vow
That to die in war
For a crime of pash
Is to know what for
Why you must be fired?

Shaftied, Then Taftied: A Bozo Politics Song

It started with old WH
Who wanted to judge
And who got to the WH
With hardly a budge
And he made his retort
As the Chief Supreme Court.


Up came Sen. Bob I can
Mr. Republican
Who was strong against war
Stayed an iso, got sore
Was that new, being wrong
Or a scar that belongs?


Once more, a famous tradition!!!
Those Ohio renditions of
What's in a name?
Now are new preconditions of
Long lines of shame!!!

And they're praying for all
Before they take the fall
Indictments do cast a pall
It's not hard to be Tafty
But it's hard not to Laughty
When you're writing such songs.


They call him Salt Water Tafty
Forgotten forms, his got drafty
They made him seem sorta grafty
Needs a mouthpiece now quite crafty.

Striking The Bent: A Bozo Antiwar Song

Take down such a Sheehan
To say much? Are we clean?
Or is it the winners
Who subsist being mean?

It once was Gallagher
Not of watermelon
No the foil, Mister Shean
Gone but right: we're has beens!

One sliced Brother Bishop
Who gave us some morals
On our tvs, like corals
Roger heck with Lot's wife.

We're not yet in tents
That's for them in Darfur
And we've not yet the sense
Of what we're fighting for.

It could be the GWOT
Rides our President on
Or it could be the not
To these wars neocon.

But what do we think?
Not much, seems to me
That no matter the drink
We remain all at sea.

Pap's A Rap: A Bozo Justifyin' Song

Here's a Salt Lake rake
Tryin' to sell his war
And the VFW
Doesn't know what for
There's a thing called death
W ends with pleas
For some more blood spent
21st Century.

It's the terror men
Who have gotten hold
Of our sense again
They can only scold
To see grief condign
Then they must decline
To sell out all brains
For a smart design.

Babe and I hold signs
That say: "Think at last!"
We pay all the fines
We love all outcasts
But religion's spines
Sadly bound to last
Books are burned to blind
God's new Hitler cast.

Well, I may not know
How to sway my friends
But I say don't go
Volunteers do rend
In the payment of
With the raiment soft
For some days of love
Or a head blown off.

My country, tis Legree
In the old log cabin
Little Eva swears
At the virgin's heaven
But how low we see
Is the kingdom leavened
By the rich man's cares
After White House lappin'?

Diamonds Are Forever: A Bozo Fascism Song

Chavez, Chavez under threat
From our yobs who'll get you yet
You don't sell us shiny glass
Like Old Charles T...

So you'll be smashed
Who's happiest to get asides
From those who commit genocide.

Yep, they're all good Christians
Sure, or so they say
Like appalling Fenians
Pure as IRA.

Our Prez won't essay
That murder's murder
Don't bother to knock
Whether killing docs
At a woman's clinic
Such assassins murmur
"War on terror cynics!"

Me, I hate this war
Which destroys all freedom
Praying orders more
From what's left by greedom.

Ours a shameful time
Slays this land with slime
Where religions climb
Giving all a shove
Shilling's hand in glove
Thinking's gone no further
Than a brain-dead mass.

Well where are they?
Why should you care
Terrorists are clear
Why, they never bore!
And they were not there
Or at least they weren't
Before this here war.

MIA (Again): A Bozo Natural Disaster Song

Here there was a flood
A breach birth, not too good
Once again inside the 'hood
Was much death, not holy rood.

So Bush gave up his vac
To retry to get the knack
Lacked before the terror struck
When he was another shmuck.

New Orleans!
You're on your own
Better move, because your home
Will not be built, our crowns
Of thorns are poor has beens.

You'll resemble wounded vets
Whose benefits are cut
While the oily slimy sluts
Get rich on Delay's nuts.

Your Barbour makes me ill
He carves up tax cut thrills
And leaves you in merino
Sheared like sheep in his casinos.

We used to be a nation
One for all, but now we ration
SUV regeneration
Why, it's 1974
As we fight another war
For the rich, who know what for
How to cash in tidal bores
Or to bash us evermore.

George W. Bush Will Never Apologize To Beryl Davis, But I Shall: A Bozo Pastiche Song

Let's get away with it once more
Just like we did that bad fall
Let's send some kayaks
Make Cajuns our Dayaks
Bush says to hell with you all.

"Me, I'm a President two-term
Who's never sorry at all
Give funds at my dinners
Give tax cuts to winners
Who say to hell with you all."

"We'll send aid down
Unless you drown
Then I'll repeat
Some lies are neat
You must be Iraqis."

Yep, there's a man they call Rummy
No, he won't arrive until fall
Failure's a raghead
We can't beat in Baghdad
Bush says to hell with you all.

So float off the dead in a stampede
Those poor folks, they just don't stand tall
We tell 'em we're prayin'
For domes they can stay in
Bush says to hell with you all.

"We'll shoot to kill
Make looters chill
Then when I tour
With grins du jour
Why then you'll have your fill".

Well, levees are bound to be sagging
Whenever the budget axe falls
Do not cast bayou blame
Or Fats Ain't That A Shame
Bush says to hell with you all.

Where once we had time for a country
We find now there's no time at all
Except for excuses
And spinmeisters ruses
Let's say to hell with 'em all.

On The Rooftops: A Bozo Golfing Song

There's a putting green
And I am to be mean
'Coz my first shot
Leaves me ahead
Dead, but that's not what
Streams out like snot
Sings the bayou bell.

In a hotel I felt lonely
In the Monteleone
But I got out alive
Eagled a par five.

We walked 'round Bourbon
White folks with bourbons
1970, all hated the war
Seemed like wrought iron
Struck us over par
The shaft is a siren
The graft calls us on.

Babe saw weeping willows
The silent shake of widows
No morning after pills
Sense's called Storyville.

Now down the Cajuns
The Creoles
All poor and white
And black and brown
Fall thorniest crown
Fall Armstrong blubber
Fall funeral clubber.

When ends Mardi Gras?
With Chinese bras
With Bush's morass
Beignets baked crass.

My folks lie down
They choke on excuses
I awoke in a king size
Fit right, my ring sighs
For now what do we learn
From drowning our losers
How to putt, how to squirm.

Sayonara, Rehnquistador: A Bozo Multicultural Song

CJ, head Supreme
He is dead
What a pygmy
Who hung on and on
Like a man with two wives
Who spent all of their lives
Sayin' Big A Me!

Of course Hatch liked him
So you might as well say
That you need no greased lightnin'
When such pigs beam your way
I mean who needs to be slick?
Tricky Dick made the pick.

So the neocons grieve
And the old cons believe
In the sort of a faith
That is first not for heads
Or that tries to be frightened
By what's in your bed.

Farewell, Mr. Solon!
Buried now by back pages
Full of Bayous and rages
Why, it's hard to be half
Of the creme de la creme
When you only can laugh!!!

The Next Chief: A Bozo On A Bender Song

Roberts is the new boy
But will he throw the tree?
Or shall he say
"It's God's hew day
We don't come from monkeys".

Roberts is the right's joy
But will he stop the stemmin'?
Or shall he bay
"You'll not be gay
Or flee the next Jack Lemmon".

Roberts is a Bush toy
But will he push the faith?
Or shall he stray
"I'll be the way
For FEMA's type of wraith!"

Roberts is to Dems coy
But will he Roto Router?
Or shall he fray
With Sandra Day
Or be another Souter?

Roberts is an alloy
But will he shine the light?
Or shall he stay
Like those long grayed
A constitutin' pyrite.

The Atheist's Lament: A Bozo National Disaster Song

On the national day
Of remembrance and prayer
I hope someone asks
Why no one knows where
The spin doesn't sell
Or just once might dare say
We shall send straight to hell
Those who called it a day.

I mean the police
Who decided to flee
And the FEMA Director
Whose horses had fleas
And the ones with the cars
Who didn't quite see
The ones left for dead
By you, them, and me.

Our President tries
To pretend that he cares
But mostly he lies
Because that's where he ends
In wars of no purpose
In faithful repose
To means that he bends
To pay rich men's woes.

Our Congress can't wait
To add up the debt
So's to say it's your fate
Too bad, you're not vets
Put down your armor
We might use it just yet
To keep up the harm or
The tax cut debate.

Our people at odds
For the moment I'm sure
That the ones in the sod
Are mostly the poor
And for those who think God
Is a waste of time space
There's nothing today
But to shut up your face!!!

New Orleans Mississippi
The chance is too clean
The prance of the chippy
The trance snide and mean
The glance of the tip we
Didn't quite leave, seein'
Lesserlike beings
Forgot in a jiffy.

Pray and remember
Not to God, to just man
'Tis the ember of hope
If we do all we can.
Refuse your god's will
And the life to come
Else you're stuck in the swill
Of the dopes we've become.

Pay As You Go: A Bozo Reconstruction Song

Let's chew on Dan Snyder
Who made his view
A rider cuttin' down trees
Paul Revere 1-2-3.

Continuin' to grill
A Sandy Berger trill
Classified his lies
As more or less assized.


Let's see which strivers
Want New Orleans rebuilt
Not unequal in gilt
For those lacking drivers.

A minuet to Kofi
Shilled Kojo's remedy
A tort of slack upon
The law of contracts.



What's a disaster?
A sort of pilaster
Blushin' full of cream
Pushin' one more scheme
It's what they call gross
To be left, to be dross.

Let's see connivers
Do whatever they want
Then bless us with fonts
Of jobs for have nots.

Wal Mart stacks 'em up
Sell's em cheap
Plays a tune on
Never a union.


Let's be endivers
In a salad frisee
What the hell's the way
To see how bad we can be.

Or let's be one day
A climb out o' this land
A rhyme for all hands
To be just what we say.



Pay as you know
Don't matter the party
If your checks are hearty
You're free to go.

In Camera With Brownie Fiesta: A Bozo Accountability Song

We didn't mean to fire you
You've just been reassigned
It's not like we're liars, too
We're what you call refined.

Louisiana's not your calling
It's a grimy place of fens
But they're used to lots of stalling
So we thought you'd fit right in.

Mississippi loves their gambles
Or the chance to Johnny Reb it
But when their barge descrambles
They'd like a card called debit.

Of course, you're not a jerk off
Anyone could see that's error
But you did piss off that Chertoff
And it's not the war on terror.

Or maybe it is? We'll ask the boss
Who remembers nothing much
But he's never at a loss
When he's not just out of touch.

It's enough to make you scream-a
When the press does not endorse us
Then your ass as Head of FEMA
Is a whole lot more than horses.

Well, I say Old Brownie Boy
There's a chance for you one day
When we need to redeploy
That rogue missile called DeLay.

But until that challenge comes
You'll be fine back in DC
Where your college roomie's chums
Will be big, just wait and see!!

Koizumi Misconstrued Me: A Bozo Partnership Song

While wanting to go postal in Japan
One panting Prime Minister seeks
A fine day of landslide
Built glidin' on reeks
Of elidin' history.

A mystery unreconciled
Not with school books profiled
Or Tojo hardly defiled
But with long locks of grey
An independence day:

"Well, let's take up these fronds
Keep buyin' up their bonds
We're not old Nip sneaks
No! We freed colonies
We aren't indeed phonies".

"35% turnout says Oh Wow!!!
We can make it a go now
To slake thirsts with sake
To venerate Nagasake
Our stake, W's show."

On the snow capped Fuji
Is what seems to me
A kind of time elapsed
In fools called Brownie
Whose film stock never grasped...

High and Low
In The Realm Of The Senses
Rashomon, oh come on
It's all about past tenses
We never learn or know.

The Beasts Are Our Least Children: A Bozo Vox Populi Song

Well it says here contrition
Is to be one commission
Independent and fair
As if we really care...

There's bipartisan smack
When we aren't being hacks
But we won't help the blacks
To be spared, not one, jack!

In millenium goals
We see just who gets coal
Here's a glance at point seven
But we'll all be in heaven...

Waiting for goodness knows
Hillary, are you running?
Or is it all funning
These panderous shows?

Kanye West had it right
But it's not just the right
Who don't share in what's right
We gave up all our rights.

The right to be reason
Went Orleans with our reason
Sent a chance to be pleasin'
Down with death, but we're sorry!!!

Oh I am now responsible
Oh I am reprehsensible
Oh I am polls insensible
Oh I am strolls defensible.

The right to say no God
Went down oily in Saud
Bent and beaten on delta
Bankruptcy for a Delta.

The right to say marry me
Got thrown out when you carry me
Across the threshold
To a same sex household.

The right to preserve
A self-evident freedom
Was sold off in this greedom
By those who lacked nerve.

And we stood by and by
Overcome by the lies
Although some of our spies
Couldn't find their own flies.

The right to a country
Is the might of the gun
Trees where strung up Cajuns
Were unsightly pecans.

But we are the peons
Who elect one fine cosh
To make off with our dosh
Like the waters we're fleein'.

So the right to turn  black
Is the light of our slack
Which we'll cut almost no one
But the clothes on our back.

Oh, I'll be in the end
Just a writer, a friend
Wouldn't take this mess on
'Cept to impress upon....

Another Speech, Another Leech: A Bozo Carpet Bagging Song

Oh we coulda hired Hoffa
And paid union wages
But we're rather be scoffers
Fed by our kings of ragin'.
Not the rage of the dead
We left them well behind
But that turd blossom head
Of the quite right wing kind.

Who else could we turn to?
Now that Brownie's gone down
With the money we've spurned to
The tax cuts not drowned
Well we won't be repaid
Just by cuts Medicaid
It's a swamp, a mangrove
Needin' that boy Karl Rove.

See the promises made
Aren't at heart a good scrapple
See the funds we shortchanged
When we screwed the Big Apple.
We commission no levees
Nor the kind that will judge
But whose minds like Dick Cheyney's
Count on much contract fudge!!!

Not a Marshall Plan Cajun
No, it's more like lend lease
We say we're rebuilding
And we hope the Chinese
Will keep buyin' our bonds
Or at least help with gilding
So Alphonso Fig Leaf
Will be well clad in fronds.

It's enough to kill polls off
What we see as your future
Like a back some ducks roll off
When we've thrown out the sutures
But it's not what we say
No, it's just what we do
When you're killed by delay
Then we won't hear your views!!!

Will you wait New Orleans
For the hope of our lies
Will you sand blast the leakin'
Like some once unknown spy?
When Katrina called Bush
Dirty Rice did reply:
"No relief for your tush
Comes from our UN guy!!!"

Setting Sons, Poored On Cajuns, Come Back, Come Ragin'!: A Bozo Bushwah Song

5 grand? You'll come home
To our enterprise zone
When the officer phones
To grant you that home loan
Then New Orleans rebounds.

It's a sort of a sound
Like a funeral march
Where the Satchmos aren't arch
Where the white folks so parched
Still drive you underground.

George Bush doesn't get it
He's willing to bless
All of those who will stress
Fall on telethon bedsits
Shall censor Kanye West.

So what of the churches?
Seems that charity pays
Reimbursements today
From Bush Feds who don't date
Separate from the state.

Health care? Nurses and doctors
Speeding down to help out
But they won't be your proctors
When insurance runs out
Or you had none? Curses!!!

Karl Rove's pygmies just loot
When they don't, then they shoot
All the poor who assail
Them, they're ridin' the rails'...

On the Bush interregnum:
Even saviours as dumb
As Republican coots
Won't be fail safe, just nailed.

He's Through Without Question, Advice Consents To Selection: A Bozo Supremes Song

Oh Roberts, a golden slipper
Your mind's now blindin' out of date for
When you nobly served one Gipper
With youthful scratchings
Oh Senators, you'll not be catching
This John third-rate or stashed opines 
From five years later.

The Comebacks Of Flacks: A Bozo Returning Song

Babe and I are on the moon
Waiting for a leader
Who's not afraid to risk a swoon
Off keying Bush's lieder.

That NASA wants to go again
For 2 of theirs we'll pay
To rebuild Katerina spin
'Til Nagin goes away.

The Dems they aren't too much
They worry that they'll fry
By seeming just as out of touch
As millionaires or spies.

The klieg lights make it all too good
It's what Bush calls the glow
But in some Najaf neighborhoods
Construction's mighty slow.

Our saviour Coast Guard admiral
Who's got a small mustache
Bad viral in the goo!!!
Well Hitler had one too.

"Please spare the cash!" our Congress bays
But soon they'll be on cue
Estate tax cuts we must obey
The poor don't pay their dues.

So Babe she wants to go to Mars
And I want peace on Earth
We wound up in a Gitmo bar
These chains are our net worth.

At Scotland Yard Not Met: A Bozo Policing Song

Well I shot to kill
But then let's be fair
When you see Brazil
Nuts, you're Ian Blair.

It's the kind of pall
Like Iraq these days
Where the serving all
Seems to go astray.

But of course we shoot
When we want to slay
And of course one toot
Means Kate Moss must pay.

For Sir Ian likes his laws precise
Like his boss Tony
When he says the price
Of a freedom phony
Is the kind of rush
That you get when lickin'
That dumb ass called Bush.

See our Army Corps
Broke it down once more
To the third degree
To the trial Lyndee
To the failed levee
To the open sore
To the jailed galore.

Well our country's dead
We gave up our heads
We think only smut
We shrink to tax cuts.

We save no one who
Will not grieve like you
For the ways so fair
Before Ian Blair.

Grist Mill Spills: A Bozo Tracing Song

I'm here to earn my pay
Nope, don't work for HCA
My newest kid needs a bris
I take my stock to Bill Frist.

My wife and I bought options
We sold short on adoption
But the drugs were too fertile
So we cashed in, bein' puerile.

See we think that Schiavo
Won't be run like the Zone Go
Fees are not for Bill Lemmings
Unresistant to stemming.

Thus we pray tho' we find
That God's trust isn't blind
Court is our next appointment
SEC's not anointment.

Well we know Senators
Toreado-R, Barber Tenn
Will sing ethics undone
Nashville's panderin' one.

Sad To Say, The Don's Away: A Bozo Smarting Song

I'm sorry about that chief
But I think that you're a thief
Who sings out pastorals
For the chorus amoral
The ethics of comic relief.

Would you believe Abu Gharaib?
Or the soldiers who never gave
A damn for their captives
Their commanders weren't active
Except to fill up the graves.

Remember homage to Bill Powell?
Oh hear Georgia's craven avowal
That to save some more gas
Is how school days shall pass
Atlanta's gas guzzlin' all vowels.

Sure I'll swoon before 99
She was intelligent design
Don't require any weldin'
To imagine Barb Feldon
Making love to me at Adams' shrine.

So let's say to Henry and Brooks
You gave us cheap laughs by the book
When our times fall apart
We could use a good fart
Before dumbing down with our shnooks.

The Porkin' Of Orkin: A Bozo Indictment Song

Your dog it needs a spay?
Your hair it needs a spray?
Your thinking it's dismay?
Then you must see Tom DeLay!

He'll give you what you want
By hook or crook or cant
He'll never turn the glam off
Or orders from Abrahamoff.

Your cause is fair today?
Your loss in taxes pay?
Your pests have gone astray?
Then you must see Tom DeLay!

He's not a partisan
He's the best Republican
Whenever there's a bill to ram
He'll pass it, even on the lam.

Your war is what you say?
Your cells are stemmed away?
Your parents might be gay?
Then you must see Tom DeLay!

He's not the new Knievel
He's the Texan bug's poll weevil
He'll rake in axies of evil
For a fee, he'll back upheaval!

Your house is in the bay?
Your golfing holiday?
Your missile never strays?
Then you must see Tom DeLay!

He's what they call a hack
Not too Hansom, out of whack
But for ransom he'll be there
Corporations pay his share.

Your country's lost its way?
Your President's in play?
Your sentence won't be stayed?
Then you must be Tom DeLay!!!

Wreaking Havoc: A Bozo Authority Song

Babe and I ask New Orleans:
If we rebuild, will you come clean?
We mean about the awol cops
And those who looted in the shops.

If they'd deserted in Iraq
You bet they'd be a pounding rocks
We grounded Lyndee yesterday
But not the torture rules that pay.

Oh yes, we have a Roberts chief
Who says nothing about belief
He seems to think that being white
And rich and godly will delight.

Lest we forget there was a prison
Where all were left to swim alone
The cops they went off on their own
So who deserves our best derision?

In time of war it's cowardice
To flee from duty is not right
To see what beauty is in might
DeLay will not remove our lice.

So Babe and I are getting warmer
When we must think of pigs who fly
The jig is up, tho' not for lies
More soldiers dying without armor.

Going To Court: A Bozo Settlement Song

I'm here with Lou Costello
But I'm not such a fellow
Pending legal matters in
A town called Paterson.

The one on the East
They renamed Elmwood Park
'Coz it seemed like a least
Reminder of what barks.

Rue the small claims court vow
That we'll cash in anyhow
By being as obtuse
As insurance we choose.

Lou was the favorite son
But per se he got done
In the courts without guns
Went down one rising sun...

Who lied to the judge
Who lied to the wife
Who lied to the daughter
Who grasped for a life.

In Jersey, the blurs see
A bender that fends
Off a Volkswagen dented
Or a suit that won't end.

So my contempt was vented
And the verdict won't rend
All the whores who are lawyers
It's all that they can be.

Here now Abbott
When the dead pose 'neath domes
There's a bed of a have not
Whose contingency roams
To the ends of the earth
Squeeze the suits are all shot
It's not freedom, Tom Sawyer
Please, the fence is our worth.

Another Anointment: A Bozo Appointment Song

Miers, Myers, it's all the same
One's a Harriet, one's a Dick
One lines up the INS slick
One finds no chain of command
One client's a President
One winds up Iraqis
One takes Katrina stock
One country stuck with shlock.

There's no money unlaundered
Or torture unencumbered
Or failures unapologized
Or Kathys on the rise
Or jailers uncharged
Or portraits left to wonder.

Ozzie, what's it worth to buyers?
Is it the rule of law land
Is the fuel of hands in maw
Is the cruel lands we paw
Is the jewel of Cajun fryers
Is the tool of WMD liars
Is the fools now well in hand
Is the stools, is where we stand.

The Leader's Terror Lieder: A Bozo Deconstruction Song

"Ooh, we've stopped at least 10 al-Qaeda plots!"
Our President said today.

Katrina, that was surely one
Our President raised some cash
But not for poor folks setting suns
Without a car to dash.

Rita, that was surely two
Our President saw the ops
He wanted to be seen anew
Surrounded by some cops.

Afghanistan, that was surely three
Our President got revenge
But Mullah Omar he did flee
And Osama's on the mend.

Iraq, that was surely four
Our President's sort of fightin'
Agin' the terrorists who weren't
There, until we went right in.

Social Security, that was surely five
Our President said we'd save
On commissions when we aren't alive
It's Wall Street's kind of rave.

Six was surely gay marriage
Our President said to wait
For Karl Rove's fey miscarriage
Was outing secrets of state.

Seven was surely paygo
Our President said he'd max
The costs are whatever may go
But not lead to a new tax.

Eight was surely Jacques
Our President said he'd brung
More freedom fried shellaque
Or Gerhard or Il Sung.

Nine was surely evolution
Our President said we're done
Design science ablutions
With bible conundrums.

Ten was surely fear
Our President now meanders
The polls they cause his tears
For a cynic's sort of panders.

It's all haves and have nots
The haves lead us astray
You see our President's bon mots
Have not convinced, no way!

In The Nave of Saves: A Bozo Calling Song

Are you listening to me, New York?
Jesus says polls are borked:
"When thy stay firm the course
Ends with what He calls gorse".

Are you with me, margin of error?
Jesus says War On Terror:
"Laxatives never fear, nay
They're what He calls DeLay".

Are you with me, 10 plots?
Jesus says I'd a not:
"Qaeda loves your no bids
He'll put pennies on lids".

Are you with me, CIA?
Jesus says that's too gross:
"I like stout, but you'll pay
He'll extinct Albagoss".

Are you with me, history?
Jesus says not quite, so worry:
"Those who skew on the cheap
He'll put you on ash heap".

"George, when you do as you please
God will drive those Humvees
To slay you and blind trust
Like a plague of locusts."

15 Mule Team Borax: A Bozo Intelligence Pastiche Song


"The integrity of the FBI is a known national treasure that must be protected," said retired Gen. Barry R. McCaffrey, who used to head the White House Office of National Drug Control Policy. "But there should be no hard and fast rule that suggests you can't ever have used drugs. As long as it's clear that's behind you and you're overwhelmingly likely to remain drug free, you should be eligible."

Current rules prohibit the FBI from hiring anyone who used marijuana within the past three years or more than 15 times ever.

"That 16th time is a killer," McCaffrey said.

Some people say a man is made out of mud
Well, a G-man's made outta muscle and blood
Muscle and blood and skin and bone...
And some tokes you sneak
But no smack, that's wrong!


This G was born one morning when the sun didn't shine
When they hired his shovel, he exhaled real fine
He loaded 15 tons of that number 9 coal
Till McCaffrey said, "Well, I could bless your soul!"


So if you see smoke coming...you better step aside
Many G-men didn't, Aldrich Ames he lied!
One gristmill is spyin' and the other's unreal
And if the right wing doesn't get you
Then the fright wing will...



You take 15 tokes and what do you get?
A pass on the polygraph or a terrorist yet
Saint Mueller better call you
Coz that spliff won't roll
I sold my last one to the Company store.

Purl One To World: A Bozo Knitting Song

In Britain, a girl called Abi Titmus
Whose qualities expand
On Celebrity Love Island
Fees her surgeon's knife must put in.

In America there's a litmus
Test that's called religion
We say no, but some pigeons
Say yes, thus we're shut in.

So what are nominees?
Some are Simon, some Legree
Some are rhymin', most agree
They'll say nothin', can't you see?

Along the Gulf Coast I roam
Still searchin' for the homes
Our President said would be there
To show that he really cares.

My songs mostly want to roast
They boast and play drum gourds
Their shares of plows are swords
These flares of now untoward.

It's not what is buried that salves
It's what's missed when hurried
The story of man, woman, girl, boy.
The gory ban, somnabulist whirl, annoy.

Words are all we have.

On Another Eve Of Vital, Requital?: A Bozo Constitution Song

A referendum in Iraq
But we don't bother, even to knock
We're most concerned with tears again
For those who live on our flood plains.

Let's see our troops have got some lines
In videos with chiefs confined
To saying sorry for what God knows
Is just the best that he could find.

And are there more than enough?
Well, if you say no, it's flippancy
But if you say yes, it's bullshit stuff
For those who are there: necromancy.

Rove went before to make his time
Seem well worth outing, but not a crime
Insurgents routing, shut up, turn dime
We are no more than what we slime.

The votes are cast, the competition
May well say no, so we'll partition
But not paygo, that's plain sedition
The debts are vast, a precondition

For starving beasts who bring the law
Or carvings least, we like it raw
At marvelous feasts are what we saw
With parvenus, with dogs of straw.

So where will all those Sunnis go?
Along with us, or will they stow
Their anger deep, well no one knows
See that's the curse of Bush's show...

Marchin' To Pretoria: A Bozo Nation Of Islam Song

A million man, a million more
The marches of the homophobes
This murderer condemned the Jews
He's once again leading the news.

In Ohio the neo-Nazis
And also too in old DC
Who'll play at holding up the strobes
For Nurembergs in Islam's robes.

Toledo's now a fascist town
But really it's the wrong way round
We cannot see what's been before
Unless reversed, we'll all be whores.

So please say to the Farrakhan
Your blasphemies do not pretend
Your revelries are those of hacks
Who push forever fifth-rate smack.

Your prejudice will keep 'em down
Enthralled to love of fifth-rate clowns
It's not enough, once every ten
To strut your stuff, it kills black men.

The Pliers Of Mengele: A Bozo Rule Of Law Song

There are 6 Texas judges
Central casting call
Their hair in great old fudges
When there's hair at all.
See Bush will give 'em nudges
To say, we want her tall
Or pray for Senate budges
To sieve his latest call.

They come to be town criers
On the sure and true
To buttress White House liars
Who cannot construe
Just what is wrong with Miers?
Well it's in her view
Of moderation flyers
Crash in right wing hues.

There is a constitution
That we passed way back
That Saddam he wasn't born
The British had the knack
To separate the corn
From the restitution
So now our might conforms
In a place they call Iraq.

Babe says we cannot force 'em
To vote or coincide
I say we cannot horse 'em
To smote the genocide
It's what we call of course,
Them's not all we can elide
When trying hard to source 'em
On this petrodollar ride.

Fall Campaigns, Wall Insane: A Bozo Gubenatorial Song

A call from Grover
Who's in the clover
To say that Kilgore
Will be our Fuhrer
If I'll only vote
See how winks connote
Like organic purer
Than the dirt in store.

Or maybe it's Kaine
Well, a principled smile:
"I sure ain't that vile
But when the law says
Tim it's time to murder
No, you can't be herders
See how sheep do gain
From my feelin' no pain".

So carry me back
To Ole Virginny
Where the pols are hacks
And pianos tinny
But we're not Maryland
See how crabs do funnel
From Egyptian grands
To the Harbor Tunnel...

Wilma Pows My Kisser: A Bozo Graceless Song

But it's not me, it's them
I'll be just what you want
Not full of myself, that's cant
I'll be Jesus, he might rant.

Who wants to go to war?
Who can't see just what for
We go for all of 'em.

Supportin' the troops
Even as we droop
To pay 'lectric bills
To say all our fill:

It's a pension GM
It's a GM seed
It's a find that's grim
We're broke, we need.

It's a personal lawyer
Who lays on the trowels
For Governor Bankrupt
Who's killed off avowals.

It's a Congress deadbeat
Without death tax retreat
Who won't feel the heat
For being tax cheats.

It's a bird flu pandemic
Which gins up the fear
While Iraq is uremic
From what George wants to hear.

But it's not me, it's them
I'll never say you can't
Not full of why we shant
Just choking on their phlegm.

See Abate That 8x8: A Bozo Golan Golem Song

Deeply disturbing!
Our President shouts
That killing Hariri
Was a Syrian maze
It's best to be leary
Of these Baathist crazes
But don't ask him 'bout
Curbin' Abu Gharaib.

Condi says no, not the same
As civil rights marches
Or New Orleans shame
Why we should now be wary
Of old caliphates
But we will never vary
In spreadin' the hate
Of Ameri Con Arches.

This week's all about Harry
See right wing guest fliers
Their knickers are twistin'
Their pickers say Miers
Ain't worth one lit candle
Of blastocysts married
Or some gay borkin' handle
Love our troops, they're the diers.

It's enough to be stupid
When you're outed by liars
Will Assad be the cupid
For the next oil-based fire?
Or shall we stay duped
By the rich men's deniers
I think we need two beds
Babe says nope, just flat tires.

The Music Of The Right: A Bozo Republican Song

When does the man from Roto Rooter
Rescue the man who some call "Scooter"?
When does the ice cream we call Briers
Sweeten fallen Harriet Miers?

"We never did undo her cover
That agent Plame, was that her name?
We said he married far above or
It's such a shame, she's in the frame!"

When does commander get relief
From bein' one more injun chief?
Who never liked Geronimo
But Cheyney said, "The slime's a go!"

"We could tell truths, if they're for sale
The fable called a Miller's tale
She may locate the WMD
The label says Libby Libby Libby."

How wrong to seem to have a test
No child's behind, let Tenet rest
With medals from the old country
Pinning President's now up a tree
With right wing terror, redeemed, no lusts
Prolong the error of lame duck busts.

Fishing In Shoals: A Bozo Republican Song

Alito? Alito
The next big bonito
Whose record's quite sporty
To polls below forty.

Miers? Miers was a tuna
And what's more a lacuna
Who didn't write prose
That didn't brown nose.

Hestert? Hestert was a char
Who got quite as far
As a city drowned does
When levees do bulldoze.

Frist? Frist was a sturgeon
Whose blind trust made surgeons
Ignore SEC radar
For puts and calls caviar.

Libby? Libby was a tarpon
Who harpooned all those carpin'
For the truth about war
Forsooth, what was it for?

Rove? Rove was a piranha
Who's indicted manana
But today it's no sin
To be spinning again.

DeLay? DeLay was a grouper
Like Zeig Heil, a storm trooper
Far too mean to be funny
Or to wash clean that money.

Cheyney? Cheyney was a moray
With Iraq just one foray
To expend on dead kids
Or to spend on no bids.

Bush? Bush was a mullet
Sorry stuck in his gullet
Guess it's hard to be royal
When you're stuck with the loyal. 

(Alternative Verse:

W? W oyster toad
Always took the low road
No hooks could dislodge
His great love for the dodge:
"The mission of fish
Is to frighten and dish
All the dirt of our time
I make pearls prefer slime
So why say accomplish?
Hey, someone has to rhyme!")

GOP? GOP school of fish
Their taste ain't so delish
Relocate 'em, my wish
To some satellite dish!

Bush On A Trip: A Bozo Hemisphere Song

"They tell me that the free trade zone
Might be achieved, but hold the phone
There seems to be a brand new twist
Whose ass that Miers hasn't kissed"
It's called de nada, Sammy!

We see George Bush surrounded by
The tear gas, and that Chavez guy
I guess it's just one spicy clump
Of salsa at the dips triumph
Our Prez, his hands are gettin' clammy.

Flame A Thousand Cars: A Bozo Pastiche Song

They say that you're second generation
'Tho some say you've got to go
You say that you have reservations
I know, for banlieus, I know...

Well the night burns a thousand cars
And a thousand cars will see me through
'Coz no matter what the Jacques do
See, it's not in the stars, or the tricolor blahs
That the night burns a thousand cars.

One of these days 'similation
Like the Euro, you'll be free
Ok, we're stuck on domination
But it's not like we're Yankees...

Well the night burns a thousand cars
And a thousand cars will see vous through
'Coz no matter what the Jacques do
Whee! It's not in the stars, or the tricolor blahs
That the night burns a thousand cars.

So remember curfews
Nous sont Etoiles that bar
But the night burns a thousand cars...

Investigate This, Not That: A Bozo Senator's Song

Bill Frist he seeks
The source of leaks
He writes of secret pens
He doesn't care what's in 'em:

"My purity will not quite say
I'll torture all til surety
Shall guarantee this Post item
Hurts national security.

You see it's like that HCA
For years my trust was blind
The stock I sold that fateful day
Reaped profits I don't mind.

So when I read the CIA
Has thrown away the key
It's not their prisons I can't stand
It's just the SEC. "

"All right, and winning Dems..."

(from the NY Times)

In May 2004, the F.D.A. rejected an application by Barr Laboratories to sell its Plan B contraceptive over the counter without restrictions, saying the company's studies did not include enough girls younger than 16.

This came after the agency's own nonprescription drugs advisory committee and its review staff recommended approval.

Last month, a consultant to that advisory panel, Dr. Frank Davidoff, editor emeritus of the Annals of Internal Medicine, resigned in protest of the agency's handling of the Plan B contraceptive, saying it was putting politics over science. In August, the top women's health official at agency, Susan Wood, also quit in protest over the Plan B decisions.

The G.A.O. report suggested that top F.D.A. officials had discussed turning down the application for over-the-counter sales of Plan B as early as December 2003, even though its advisory panels had not yet weighed in.

It also said that in Barr's application to switch Plan B from prescription to over the counter sales, or O.T.C,, as the agency calls it, "F.D.A.'s high level management was more involved in the review of Plan B than in those of other O.T.C. switch applications."

In its response to the G.A.O.'s draft report, Jane Woodcock, deputy commissioner for operations at the F.D.A., said it was "inaccurate" to suggest that a decision had already been made to reject the application before the review committees weighed in. She said, however, that "it was entirely normal" for top officials "to convey to the review division their concerns regarding the application."

She also said the Plan B case had attracted a high level of "public interest," including two citizen petitions. Top level officials were involved in the review process, she said, but only to the extent that it was "typical for high-profile, controversial applications."

The Perils Of Defiance: A Bozo Gender Equality Song

"They blinded me with science!"
Said our Prez while overseas.
"I place my own reliance
On these right wing BVDs!
They fits so tight and cushy
Like Jehovah, bound to please!"

So to snits of girls and women
Ribbing Adam: noncompliance!
Our Prez has his own Plan B:
"You'll obey and not be pushy
Or you'll find my sex is comin'
To keep you upon your knees."

The Alito Shuffle: A Bozo Pastiche Song With Apologies To Boz Scaggs

Alito wants a vote today
Or Bush will smack
It's what was once called cant
Wish they weren't comin' back.

At the Jersey bar
Alito's tip: "Husbands must de trop
Just long enough
So women won't be on the top".

Next stop reapportion town
Alito put his money down
Scored own goal!
He say, "One white man? Sure!
Will get it! One black man? Well, fugget it!
Warren? Hit the road!"

Alito be runnin', for a job,
He be full of quotes
Sayin', "Toein' right wing lines
For Bush is all she wrote"
He be makin' for the Christ clime
Headin' off the quotas, or so connote:
Sayin': "One more chit, sure I'll do it!
Screw 'em all, Roe undo it!"
One more right wing toad...

Alito, whoa oh oh oh
He's agin' quotas, he's for husbands
Alito: waits for one more go
Alito, whoa oh oh oh
Bene fifth-rate nota, he hates our land
Alito: tries so hard to snow
Alito, whoa no no no...

Big Murtha The Bertha: A Bozo War Song

Thank you for the vote that favors
One more war that's built on lies
Thank you for the rote of ravers
What we're for! Or what our spies
Thank you waterboarding slavers
Hold the oil and torture fries
Thank you for the stoat, our Saviour
Designs again for stupid guys
Thank you for connote behaviors
When in Asian bird flu sties
Thank you all remotest neighbors
Who send troops and alibis
Thank you fine devoted sabres
'Tho without shields, so compromise
Thanks you for pet goats in labor
Children paying? Semper fie!
Thank you too, doting repavers
Looking past Katerina's rise
Thanks you mirrors gloat in naves or
All who saute mushroom skies
Thank you, floating whets palaver
Which some sell for pardons' cries
Thank you, as we smote engravers
Of the plaques, GIs reply:
"Thank you for rotating waivers
What is truth? It made us die".

Enlarging and Charging: A Bozo GWOT Song

Abu Ali he came to kill
And that Padilla, what a thrill!
It's just enough to think all wrong
Or try too hard, or not belong.

So off you go to Pakistan
In Qaeda camps you learn to plan
How to blow up reviled crusader
Whenever he's not on parader.

Let's start with rewrites: history
Is penned by winners, naturally
Offend you sinner, constantly
It's not exactly mystery.

Let's bend our poor democracy
That spends our rights like blasphemy.
You see the kids are safe at night
They'll pay the bills we left to fight
A kind of shrill, nocturnal sound
Is all that's left of killing grounds.

Be Nomadic, Be Sporadic: A Bozo Training Song

(from CNN)

The U.S. general in charge of helping Iraq create an army says training troops to replace coalition forces cannot be rushed but admits the training is sporadic. He spoke to CNN as pressure grows in Washington and Iraq for coalition forces to be withdrawn from Iraq. "We are moving at a measured pace," Army Gen. Martin Dempsey told CNN. He added: "It's uneven across the country, it's uneven across units, it's uneven between the army and the police."

How do we measure but in scoops
The ice cream of Iraqi troops?
It's sweet and pure as any cone
Of silence rigged to hold the phone.

Uneven is the newest odd
So add up sums of fealty
To causes that we gave the nod
And wars unsold like realty.

Thanksgiving, It's A Living: A Bozo Holiday Song

It would be nice to give thanks for
The end of poverty or war
But what we do is eat and trust
In God or turkeys til we bust.

The camera it sees our troops
As nothing more than props, no scoops
Of how they're left to die, their cause
The tax cut shills who want no loss.

Where is the honest anger now?
A floating island? Macy's cows
Reports of al-Jazeera bombs
The Bush retorts, the hecatombs.

We all need love, but find it where
The press and politics might stare
It's in the levees as they rust
It's in the devotees of lust.

And so above lead Squanto sings
For Pilgrims trade, for Thanksgiving
While still evading folly weigh
Our own parading holiday.

Holiday Shopping: A Bozo Universal Song

There's another Black Friday
Not with Karloff
But what we car off
Commerce, commence
Invisible Ray
It's the sight of the sales
Not Rukhin' CIA jails.

Mama, might you find in lies
What might be alibis
With unquestioned love
For saviours, for what's above
Below the same old sty
Bought at Wal-Mart
Lamplighters from Macy's.

When we start at Bedlam
We're not Brooklyn Gorillas
Full of sasparilla, lambs
Led to slaughter in states
Of red, or blue
Lugosi is our part
Insane Isle Of The Dead.

The homeless hurricane
Might be a firm of Brownie
Fiesta, full of townies
Bulls and clownies
The stuff of dreams
The ruffles edged in schemes
Or buried just like Gacy.

The Rheingold Land: A Bozo Denial Song

Will you give it your all
For withdrawl?
Relief! But will you recall
The lies one and all?

The WMD, it was never found
Democracy, it's still underground
Saddam chem'd the Kurds
But who sold him those words?

Only one voted no
To the Patriot Act
And there weren't Qaeda links
To Saddam: that's the fact
So which pol has the stink
Of the ignorance glow
Or of 2,000 dead
Will we want him to show?

It's the price of not learnin'
From our own history
We should always be spurning
The might, right, and He
But it's not what we're doing
Nope, we're selling off debt
To the Chinese and Indians
And the Japs, yep, you bet.

So will you give your all
For withdrawl?
Or avoid us
We're stuck on bird flu
And the sangfroid of coitus
It's not what is new
It's what never annoys us
That comes in the night
We're askew, asteroid us.

The Gospel Of Fluke: A Bozo Casino Song

According to the Vatican
You cannot be a priest
If you've been gay for less than three
Then you must be a beast!

According to Republicans
You cannot be too greedy
If you took bribes like Cunningham
They must cut back the needy.

According to our President
You cannot be pulled out
Iraq's trough of security
Is one battlion's snout.

According to the Chinese Reds
You cannot say what's lent
See freedom's just another bond
Whose interest pays your rent?

According to the rules of war
You cannot burn the dead
Or unloose bombs of phosphorous
Or fill gas full of lead.

According to the left so far
You cannot be too keen
On countries that are prosperous
Or liars who are mean.

According to the Bozo writ
You cannot be a star
Unless you landed fish in ponds
And opened a cash bar.

The Pageant Of Peace: A Bozo Ceremonial Song

At the Pageant of Peace
In a nation at war
Is the bought press release
Rummy's boys have paid for:

"Why we want victory
Tho' we cannot say what
Is winning less gory
Than losing the plot?

Why we want Iraqis
To take over one day
But they won't do too much
Unless we make it pay.

Why we're beating back terror
Who could not be for that?
'Cept the WMD error
We'll keep under our hat.

Why we're doing it cheap
So the bodies we heap
Are the victims of shooting
And too little recruiting.

Why we've remade the region
As a democrat model
Of the theocrat vision
Of the voters we coddle. "

At the Pageant of Peace
Throw a lever and light
The tree of derision
With Pythonesque fight
That ends: no decision
Have we been here before?
Guess it's better to fleece
Than to mention the war.

Decalogue Doxology: A Bozo Killing Song

Another 10 have died today
For wars of liars
Come what may
No age defiers
Will sashay
Another 10 have died today.

Another 10 will not come home
Nor yet be cryers
In towns that moan
For causes of the wayward loam
Another 10 will not come home.

Another 10 are blown apart.
For Presidents who play the part
Of fifth-rate warring Bonaparte
The tax cuts still are a la carte
Another 10 are blown apart.

Another 10 will not renew.
Their time on earth
Their residue
Of smiles garlanding every hearth
Another 10 will not renew.

Another 10 are far removed.
From those who could
No longer prove
That terror isn't holy rood
Another 10 are far removed.

Another 10 the graveyard whines.
Their leaders play with balls of twine
But will cats say
The fault is mine?
Another 10 the graveyard whines.

Paying Karen Ryan Again: A Bozo Disinformation Song

Babe and I are anchoring
The FEMA channel, hankering
For government that saves the day
Not paving Propagandist Way.

"It's not enough, it's just soft peddle",
Babe says (sure she's my kind of mettle),
"These failures are the kind that lasts
We should be all of us aghast".

"But it's the sort of war by piece
Rate stories sold, the new lend lease
Is what old Goebbels bring today
The figurines of Bush Ebay".

These could have been too hot, so fear a
Wayward bombing Al-Jazeera!
But Babe and I we know what for
Amicus briefs the fog of war:

"How 'bout that smarmy Judge Alito?
"He's hard to know, but not to veto!"
"But Babe when I was 35..."
"You knew the harm of shuck and jive".

The Wastrels Unclean Plinth Award
Is Given To Orleans Ninth Ward:

"The hotels must evacuate
No craze for vouchers Section 8
The cross addressing homeless folk
No Saviour can break a Bush yolk!"

The Wake Of Tapioca
: A Bozo Hack Eyed Peace Song

In Germany, a minister
Arrived to be bent sinister
The local songs administered
So pray, the stakes might horrify:

"We do not torture, yes, it's true!
We aren't like Germans agin' Jews
We will not state just what we do
We say mistakes are rectified."

"Tho' what these are is just a guess
Intelligence shall save unless
They get it wrong, that's not our mess
We'll stay forsaken, sanctified".

"By following our nation's laws
Our eagle will not be the cause
Of some men hewn by iron claws
We splay by slakin' thirsts espied."

 "So, Angela, it's good to know
Allies like you are best in show
Especially when they never know
We say mistakes won't testify."

Rice parsed, but wouldn't admit guilt
Far better to play songs than tilt
Towards the truth, beneath the silt
She's just a rake, the leaves don't lie.

The Bags Of Carpet: A Bozo Reconstruction Song

There are two towns rebuilding
With W's best gilding
What Najaf and Mosul
Have regained is pride for fools.

Najaf remains too swish, a
Burg full of militias
Who might be all she wrote
If women there could vote.

And our boys died to free
From clerics who we see
Are not quite pro-fam'ly
They see us as Legree.

Mosul is cuneiform
The Sunnis don't hold sway
The norm is shooting come what may
While punys like George Bush conform.

It's not exactly terrorists
In Iraq there were none until
We overthrew with tyrant's will
Yet liberators do persist
In waiting for a flower song
In never saying we were wrong
It's just, or not, Iraq goes on...

Alone On The Circuit: A Bozo Electric Song

The triumphs of diplomacy
Are not quite built on constancy
It's been a week where some ingrates
Might revel as we isolate:

In Montreal a delegation
Could not abide Kyoto rations
So they walked out in quite a huff
Seems global warming was enough.

In CIA Geneva lately
ICRC talks now quite avid
So is the tradeoff bound to be
Admit at last the Mogen David?

In Euroland, the pan is toiling
Lo! Auntie Ben's reduced the boiling
Whee! NATO's back in play again
Alliances gainsayed by spin.

In worlds where once we were admired
Our reputation's burned in pyres
Of wholly neocon desires
Not one of course is ever fired.

The holidays are not a season
For dips to parse the right-wing reason
Doritos off without such zeal:
We're outside of the commonweal.

Death By Two: A Bozo Elegy Song

If ever two are linked in death
It is Clean Gene and Pryor
For neither could survive a breath
In this sad country's fryer.

One was opposed to unjust war
But who is that today?
The Dems they aren't sure what they're for
Their Senators will cut tax or
They'll stay outside the fray.

One was too angry for the whites
But who is that today?
A 50 Cent by candlelight
Will not go far unless the bite
Is put on whitey's kids to pay.

I guess the 60s had to cleave
The ones like me who don't believe
From Jesus ending AMT
What seems to me our liberty
Is one has been of genes and dicks
It's not their fault that we are sick
Of saying we were struck by terror
Or staying to correct the error
Not saving our democracy.

The Talking Of Tongues: A Bozo Justifyin' Song

"I am responsible!", a phrase too dead
For the watershed, as the Brits have it
Pouring graveyard dirt, lost our heads
In fearing the terror, we must relive it.

Our President wants us to deny
That his war built on lies
Is now worthy, is how swarthy
Is low enough to parse the sighs.

What a surprise! Saddam's on trial
Take pharma's vial
That row's not to fallow
Who'll lack the sums?
The deficits, the unfit
The cowards,  come and come
They lurk in this Bush
They jerk us, we complicit
They work us to buy plush
They shirk two-ply deficits
Obey! We wallow in this shit.

O here they come Iraqis
To vote for us to get out now
Or later, we're not to know
To scalp us Cherokees
In a big tent no one sees
Whose caboose
Whose papoose
Whose pampelmousse
Who's on the loose
Who's right to choose
All cook our goose.

The Scorpion Of South Arizona: A Bozo Maverick Past It Pastiche Song

Sailors, Seabees and Marines:
We got laws here in this land
We got rights and we be free
We got quangos and bananas
Who can pick off subpoenies!
We got waterboards and cold rooms
And some other dandy games!
What ain't we got?
We ain't got shame!

We get wrecked Big Easy homes
We get movies FEMA shows
We get speeches from our skipper
But no money heaven knows!
We get trailer parks and tax cuts
Millionaires: don't ask, don't tell
What ain't we got?
You know darn well!


We feel restless, our state is blue
We feel lonely and in grief
We feel ev'ry kind of feelin'
But the feelin' of relief
We feel hungry as the wolf felt
When he threw up Riding Hood
What don't we feel?
We don't feel good!


Lots of things in life are beautiful, but brother
There is no particular thing that is nothing whatsoever
In any way, shape or form our leaders cover:

("It ain't the terror I'm defeatin'
Why it's the ghost of Charlie Keating!"
So holidays of Christmas past
Will see unsheathed more beatings fast
Til McCain tortures some words to say:
"No yes exempts the CIA!".

Since once imprisoned in Hanoi
The Senator's a wayward boy
He tries to be a maverick
But votes for GWOTs ahoy!
He's little more than slimy prick
Viagra's wind up toy.

Bush spied on us, he didn't care
McCain he beat the old plowshares
Cheney he got the say o'er swords
They'll all go out marauding
Three little pigs refilled who dare
Keep quiet waterboarding!)

There is absolutely nothing like the game of John McCain.

So suppose a Bush free ride
So completely see his flaws
Or as faithful as a Falwell
Killing gays without a pause
It's a waste of time to worry
Over things they haven't got
We're shmucks full of dickheads we've got!

There are no crooks like McCain
And not on books, let's be plain
There are no finks like McCain
They're only spooks we'll arraign
Nothing acts like McCain
Or retracts like McCain
There ain't a thing that's wrong with this man here
That can't be cured by boxing his ears
A torturous, come what may bastardess called McCain!!!


There is nothing like our shame
Nothing in the world
When they torture John McCain
Well, he's nothing! Hell, he's lame.

Nothing else was built the same
Nothing in the world
As the soft and wavy frame
Of the spinmeister's old game.

The Dogs Are Sickin' To Take A Lickin': A Bozo Fascism Song

I spy on you.
What's the law
Of shock and awe?
I spy on you.

When you're callin' overseas
My NSA is fixin'
To make you enemies
On a list quite like Dick Nixon.

I spy on you.
Amicus wrote my brief
In terrorist beliefs?
I spy on you.

When you say our horticulture
Wasn't made by our own Saviour
Then you'll have to face the torture
Can't trust citizens, they waiver.

I spy on you.
Where are these killers known?
Why, right here, they're our own!
I spy on you.

I spy on you.
Who cares about the facts
Of patriots defunct
Of check and balance acts
Of powers how well shrunk
In what was once true freedom
Is fifth-rate evil junk
Guess civil rights we fought for
Are dead, or paid and bought for
Our heads need be less blue
Because Bush League is through...
They only lie to you.

Santayana's Pollyana: A Bozo Panglossian Song

Oh yes, it's all so different now
Our battle is with terrorists
Not Commies, no!
Old wars don't date
Those nukes our minds obliterate
By fighting judges who resist
White House above the law.
We're winning, winning, winning!
Nixon he kept an enemies list
But we have shock and awe
To pave by tapping phones today
The Duce Dam of Gitmo Bay.
Tho' freedom is just what we saw
In sinning, sinning, sinning.
This spinning backward anyhow
Is what we do so different now.

The Yuletide Slide Rule: A Bozo Christmas Song

Oh yes we must we must
Have Patriot Acts or bust
But laws much older
We will not stand
We'll now ignore 'em
For now rebrand
It's so much bolder
To not restore 'em
Than try to rebuild trust.

Our President he seems to say
Americans will now betray
The store, or score with terrorists
So he will take our rights away
He sicks on us the NSA
To spy on phones, to seal off writs
The why of it remains unknown
Like tax cuts in a seeping way
But most of all like enemies lists.

Our country now is one of fear
Of scientists whose views are clear
Disproving truths we once held dear
We kill this joy with cowardice
Of everyone who's not like us
They get no seats, ahoy! this bus
Is equal parts the same old malice
And kindly Saint Ignoramus
And seasons lacking in good cheer.

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.
Got Music, Cash Or A Worthy Comment?

(All Songs On This Web Page Are Copyright ©2004-2005,

Los Bozos Bravos, P.W. Meek, and Gorilla Meek Enterprises,
All Rights Reserved)