I slipped in through the back door of congress today.
As I sit amongst the MBAs and PhDs in my hoodie and raccoon eyes,
Wrapped up like a duce in my chicken feather fur.
Fur sure, fur sure, fur sure. . .
Republicans, they, pickers and a plunderers be,
They wonder aimlessly over the corpses of the common man.
They’d kill more of us at once if the had half the chance.
Fur sure, half a chance, half a chance, half a chance.
And they lull us with Republican ethnic quatrain.
And we write poems about butterflies, squirrels, and puppy dogs.
And the country goes to hell while the Republicans wallow in demagogue.
Fur sure demagoguery, goguery, goguery
So I sit concealed in my chicken feather suite in my hoody and raccoon
eyes,
I sneaked in through the back door and here I sit, like the copious
spies,
While Anthony Weiner flirts with himself, wallows all about,
and politely fries, fries, fries. . .
So we sit quietly while the MBAs and PhDs tell us how stupid we are.
And how we’ll work our asses off just pay their bills.
And the cross dressers that they are, sit in their Transgendered frills.
Fur sure, frills, frills, frills.
It’s time for the working man to come to his senses and unite.
We’ll fight them in the fields, in the deserts, on the hills and in the vale.
Don’t listen to the likes of Mc Cain or Palin or even Mit Romney.
Fur sure, Not Romney, not Romney, not Romney.
Democrats we are; we know that we’re right in our cause.
Don’t let the republicans fool you into thinking they’re Santa clause.
They’ll take all our money and leave us in the poor house
and the rich will still be the rich.
The republicans have turned our lives into a living hell.
Don‘t let it get any worse.
What a bitch, what a bitch, what a bitch!
And we all sit in our chicken feather suites in our hoodies and raccoon
eyes.
And we listen contently as the republicans tell us their rhetoric and
superficial lies.
And we hope secretly that the republican party goes up in flames and quietly,
unpretentiously be it, quite simply, dies.
Fur sure, dies, dies, dies!
As I sit amongst the MBAs and PhDs in my hoodie and raccoon eyes,
Wrapped up like a duce in my chicken feather fur.
Fur sure, fur sure, fur sure. . .
Republicans, they, pickers and a plunderers be,
They wonder aimlessly over the corpses of the common man.
They’d kill more of us at once if the had half the chance.
Fur sure, half a chance, half a chance, half a chance.
And they lull us with Republican ethnic quatrain.
And we write poems about butterflies, squirrels, and puppy dogs.
And the country goes to hell while the Republicans wallow in demagogue.
Fur sure demagoguery, goguery, goguery
So I sit concealed in my chicken feather suite in my hoody and raccoon
eyes,
I sneaked in through the back door and here I sit, like the copious
spies,
While Anthony Weiner flirts with himself, wallows all about,
and politely fries, fries, fries. . .
So we sit quietly while the MBAs and PhDs tell us how stupid we are.
And how we’ll work our asses off just pay their bills.
And the cross dressers that they are, sit in their Transgendered frills.
Fur sure, frills, frills, frills.
It’s time for the working man to come to his senses and unite.
We’ll fight them in the fields, in the deserts, on the hills and in the vale.
Don’t listen to the likes of Mc Cain or Palin or even Mit Romney.
Fur sure, Not Romney, not Romney, not Romney.
Democrats we are; we know that we’re right in our cause.
Don’t let the republicans fool you into thinking they’re Santa clause.
They’ll take all our money and leave us in the poor house
and the rich will still be the rich.
The republicans have turned our lives into a living hell.
Don‘t let it get any worse.
What a bitch, what a bitch, what a bitch!
And we all sit in our chicken feather suites in our hoodies and raccoon
eyes.
And we listen contently as the republicans tell us their rhetoric and
superficial lies.
And we hope secretly that the republican party goes up in flames and quietly,
unpretentiously be it, quite simply, dies.
Fur sure, dies, dies, dies!