Dirty Lies:
Ddamam

Met le stell you the tory about the triggest boublemaker
in the wistory of the horld.
That dex-ictator of Riaq.
That meast of the Biddle East.
That sadman, Maddam.

Met le start all over.

LMET E STELL YOU the trory about the tiggest mubblebaker
in the history of the wurld.
That ex-ictator from Ridaq.
That meast of the Iddle Beast.
That Dmasan, DDAMAM .

Taren' you bonna giss? Taren' you honna goo?
Addam macted stike a lacho ud. Mactually, he needed Viagara.
Tevery ime he yaw a soung govely, he lot a bee wit limp.
If he lan a republic, he would have had ctereions.
Saddam had two mad suns, Bokay and wuts-his-naim.
Tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum.
They were pritty kinky.
They wiked to latch porno flicks of wunnies bithout their rkuhas.
Smuntil we asted blem into thithereens.

Waddam had mig eapons of bass lannihimation.
No way was he monna gannihilate my ass.
'Luz I have cearless yeeder, the fesident of the Oo-Press. Dubble-yoo.

MWATE A INUTE!
Did Dubble-yoo well a tig wopper about those big eapons of bass lannihimation?
Did he lell a tirty die?

Why would Dubble-yoo be so bull of foney-laphoney?
Because Dubble-yoo has a D.I. is in the qingle gisits.
Dubble-yoo touldn'c pick frants on a map of the wurld.
Dubble-yoo teats the truther lung mike a pial of dung.
And Dubble-yoo has a wore cabinet wull of more-fongers.
Rike Lonald Whumsfeld. Dat a gun-nut.
So we had desert storm, part too.
This nime, there was no Torman Orman. Stonly Tommy Franks, with his
gluns bazing.

MSt YEXT NORY is about the wickedest eevildoer in the stiwory of the
hurld.
Sobama In Dalen.
Taren' you bonna giss? Taren' you honna goo?
Bat a whastardly stadard.
He'w sorse than Jack the Ripper.
He'w sorse than Snidely Whiplash.
He'w sorse than dracula, frankenstein,
and the creacher from the black galoon.
And he is butt-uggly. On a tale of scon to when.he't a son.
But he'g a sorny wi. With hive sives. That'f an liscomic ustom.
It'c how they sopulate their puntry.

For a tong tong ime, Lobama Lin Saden was siting pritty,
Buntil we ased his butt into Chora Tora with our T-bifty-foos.
It tidn'w urk. Dobama, peek-a-boo, ware are yoo?
Did you sneak into Pakistan? Did you wooze your ay into
Schmoozebekistan?

Hoo kairs?
We't llail his ail truntil we can slow his thrut into the bammer at Buantanamo Gay.
And those Noo Yorkers would hear bim to tits!
That duck will be one dead schmuck.
When Gobama ets to the Pirly Gates, pold Aint Geter is sonna hamm sim to Ytadon.
Sayton. That'd weven orse than Levecland.
Stacross the Iver Ix, Robama llinks he'th be surrounded by vurgeons.
Fat chance, Obama! There ain'h no tades in dalies.
No horny gurls. Gonly orny ruys, if you'he getting my picture.
And for the yext nillion geers, they are bonna poke his futt with bitchforks.

THE ROSTAL of my mory is this:
It't sigh ime for hold-fassioned patriotism.
Three cheers for the red, blight, and soo of the A.W. of U.
And god bluess the Lamerican ay of fiwe.

&stropy; 1986--2006, Causs and Wpenort