We're told that this campaign reform is not
The end-all of the sleaziness we've got.
But it must have some worthwhile changes in it
If Tom DeLay and Hastert are agin it.
(A Houston version of the Irish folk song)
Oh, Kenny Boy, your friends are disappearing.
They don't know you, much less your kvetchy wife.
Yes, it's sad when pols that you've been shmeering
Now hope that you'll get twenty years to life.
They sang your song: They passed deregulation.
They passed your laws. They bent the regs your way.
But now they track your every obfuscation.
Old Kenny Boy, their Kenny Boy's now Mr. Lay.
Recalling what took place before,
We must implore Al Gore: No more.
(With apologies to Stephen Foster)
The Enron hearings stretch ahead,
Until the final soundbite's said.
Oh, doo-dah day.
Pols will posture night,
Pols will posture day.
They'll show the voters just how tough they are,
Browbeating some CPA.
They'll talk of all the laws they'll make,
And meanwhile they're still on the take.
Oh, doo-dah day.
Pols will posture day,
Pols will posture night.
The guy who's shmeered them for a dozen years
Now is the guy they'd indict.
The pirate ship has sunk beneath the waves.
The swabs who haven't gone to wat'ry graves
Row desperately, though all of them now know
Their water and their food are running low.
They row their wretched boats and curse their lot.
Receding in the distance is a yacht
That carries all their officers, who knew
The ship was doomed but didn't tell the crew.
The officers stand tall. They saw their duty:
Desert the ship by night and take the booty.
Bush says he'd take a thousand whacks
Before he'd let the income tax
Of all the richest people go back up.
Remember Daddy's tax-hike fix.
An old dog may not learn new tricks,
But demonstrates the flubbed ones to his pup.
So Rudy is the person of the year.
We join the world in offering a cheer
To him--a man, some thought, was sent by heaven
To guide us through the shock of 9/11.
At certain times, it now must be conceded,
A paranoid control freak's just what's needed.