My Political Poem

[MiniMandaRuth]

On a crisp morning,
When the boats were still in mooring,
When the tractor still sat in the barn,
When Grannie had not awoken to knit her yarn,
We got a man,
A man to lead,
A man,
A man to lead.

On a crisp morning,
When a nation was about to begin mourning,
You sat unknowing
Of a great attack.
You were are our man,
Our man to lead.

It took you fifteen minutes to comprehend,
You wondered if this nightmare would ever end,
You held a book upside down,
Turned like a sullen widows frown.
You were our man,
A man to lead.
Where were you?

At last you saw the urgency,
And you began to plot the attack on insurgency.
You began to plot our fall out of grace,
From the great national race,
Gone were the think-tanks,
Gone were the good times,
It was time for your glory, time to shine,
We were trapped like miners in a caved-in mine.
You were our man,
A man to lead.
Where were you?
Where are you?

Now, four years after the attack, the others no longer have your back.
Cheney's left you, you're just scum to him, all slimy and black.
Your Daddy's about to say good-bye, he wants to go to Aruba,
"Screw you!" He's saying, "I'm going to scuba!"
Condi's going to go crazy, ever heard of mad-shoers disease?
If you want her to stay, you'd better appease.
You were our man,
A man to lead.
Where were you?
Where are you?
Sorry, we found you.

We've found your dirty little secrets,
You tiny coke-binge, your car-wrecking that's a little record twinge.
We know about you goin' AWOL, we know it all,
Don't try to hide it, it just won't work,
And don't just sit there and smirk.
We've all got you, like a fish in a barrel,
You think you're a cowboy,
But really you're just a liar, a kind most feral.
You were our man,
A man to lead.
Where were you?
Where are you?
We've found you.
We've got you.

You think you've got three years left,
But count again, and it's no good to try election theft.
We're sorry, Mr. Bush, but you just let us down,
Time for you to pack up and get outta this town.
You were slippery in the past, like a sea-trout,
But now you're a perfect target, all short and stout.
We can't say we'll miss you,
We hate you, beyond a doubt,
All we're gonna say is:
Don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.





(Completely written by me. And, on edit, I forgot to mention this is my first effort)