A Boy Named Bush

Come and listen to my story ’bout a boy named Bush.
His IQ was zero and his head was up his tush.
He drank like a fish while he motored all about.
But it didn’t really matter ’cuz his daddy bailed him out.

DUI, that is.
Criminal record.
Cover-up.

Well, the first thing you know young Georgie goes to Yale.
He can’t spell his name but they never let him fail.
He spends all his time hangin’ out with student folk.
And that’s when he learns how to snort a line of coke.

Blow, that is.
White gold.
Nose candy.

The next thing you know there’s a war in Vietnam.
His daddy says, George, you can stay at home with Mom.
Let the common people go to get maimed and scarred.
We’ll buy you a spot in the Texas Air Guard.

Cushy, that is.
Country clubs.
Nose candy.

Twenty years later Dubya gets a little bored.
He trades in the booze, says that Jesus is his Lord.
He says, "Now the White House is where I wanta be."
So he calls his daddy’s friends and they call the GOP.

Gun owners, that is.
Falwell.
Jesse Helms.

Come November 7, the election’s runnin’ late.
Kin folks say, Jeb, give the boy your state!.
Don’t let those colored folks get into the polls.
So they put up barricades so they couldn’t punch their holes.

Chads, that is.
Duval County.
Miami-Dade.

Before the votes are counted five Supremes step on in.
They tell all the voters, "Hey, we want George to win."
Stop counting votes is their solemn invocation.
And that’s how George finally got his coronation.

Rigged, that is.
Illegitimate.
No moral authority.
Y’all come back to vote now.
Ya heah?