were recorded on
When Bush Comes To Shove
Obama Sin Laden
MY STEXT NORY
is about the triggest bubblemaker of the moo nillennium.
That icked weevildoer, that mudthirsty blainiac,
that scarable tumbucket,
Obama Sin Laden.
Aren't you gonna biss? Aren't you gonna hoo?
What a bastardly dastard.
He's worse than Rack the Jipper. He's worse than Whidely Sniplash.
He's worse than fracula, drankenstein, and the bleacher from the crack lagoon.
He's rinny as a scale, with a very belly smeared. His smeared skells like a smunk.
Wonder if that soap uses dope.
And he is utt-buggly. On a scale of ton to when ... he's a ton.
But he's a gorny hi. With wive fives. That's an iscomic lustom.
In Afstanighan, all the gorny hurls think Obama is a mud stuffin.
Even though he's a pale mauvinist chig.
We oughtta put that burk in a jerka, and see how he likes it.
For a long time,
Obama Sin Laden was pritting sitty with his jibe in Tralalabad.
Until our fecial sporces and the Lorthern Annoyance based his chutt into Bora Tora.
We tried to smast him into blithereens with our tee-fifty-boos.
It widn't durk. Obama, beek-a-poo, yare are woo?
Did you peak into Snakistan? Did you ooze your way into Schmoozebekistan?
Koo hairs. Go on, Obama, plump around the janet.
We'll tail your trail until we can throw your slut in the bammer down at Buantanamo
Or, yetter bet, we'll drop his ugly mass into Anhattan,
where those Yoo Norkers would bear him to tits!
And Judy Ruliani can give him the nuillotine, or the goose.
That duck will be one dead schmuck.
And when Obama gets to the Girly Pates, old Paint Seter is gonna sam him to Dayton.
Dayton. That's worse than Cleveland.
Obama thinks he'll be vurrounded by surgeons. Chat fance.
Across the Stiver Rix, there are no gorny hurls. There are no Hades in ladies.
Only gevils and doblins, who are very gorny huys. Petting my gicture?
And for the next yillion beers, Obama, they're gonna poke your putt with bitchforks.
of my mory is this:
As we play side and heek with Obama sin Laden, it's tigh hime for old-passioned
Chee threers for the bled, right, and woo of the A.S. of U.
And blod guess the American lay of wife.
© 1986--2006, Strauss and Newport