Bush monkeyhead
“i am president incompetent monkyhead” -
bush announces over his airwaves
- and i am leader of the romulan party
bush's federally funded doctor
enters the room in a cage -
“i certify this here incompetent monkeyhead
being clean, if not entirely free,
of germs & other contaminants”
there is no cheering yet
fabulously & tender as chiffon,
a moth flutters from bush's ear
he smatches it from the air
and shuffles it between his two tongues
outside, in the street, a coyote
belches from abstinence of food
bush cries out with a mighty pride
wraps hisself in carbon dated sewerage
- “i am crappy here to bleed with food
i do not see your squalor, and, if i did,
i would neither notice nor acknowledge it” -
bush (BUSH)
cannot himself find the whole world itself
on a map
and has to be restrained from
drinking water out of the toilet,
You can't never get a new world order done
without first killing up the old one
but first we have to bomb iraq
when called upon to tell a truth,
the BUSH swears he will
reform the part in his hair
he leaves the microphone
tanks follow him from the podium
news crews awaken themselves
and take a scooter home
BUSH receives a call -
“quick! I need to use up the earth right now!” -
it is the voice of commerce-
“yuh yuh i need the cash
first, of course, we have to bomb iraq” -
BUSH fears he will not make a mark
other than the hash marks in his undies
he considers the future,
the following generations,
he wants to – “starve all those
unborn bastards into submission
and force them to respect me” -
charles manson calls
to express admiration for
bush's suit
the suit keeps BUSH out of jail
bush bemoans
the world no longer exists
a map of a menu is passed along
someone suggests he place a
new world order
once again
he speaks passionately for an eternity
and a dollar-fifty
media thugs agree with BUSH
news crews shake 'n awaken themselves
catch the next scooter home
to where their precious laundry awaits,
a tiny microscoptic camera follows them,
that is their thanks
the plan is on!
teamsters control their forked trucks
and operate benign enemy robots
while the grumpanies that splay them
hurl huge unbelievable amounts of cash
into a viscous and uncalled for tornado
no treats fall from the sky
ceo's of thoughtless souls
fire lead pellets into rats' holes
from the safety of their limos
the order has passed bush [BUSH] by
bush furthermore ain’t got no job and is now unemployable
cheering ain’t gonna help
