For The Gipper
Our appointed leader and his guys
Are beating the drums of war
They don't care who among us dies
It's oil they want and more.
They be the bullies of the town
Punchin as they go
They don't care who goes down
Along with any foe.
Robbing the poor to fund the quest
You know it hurts us some
But they don't care about the rest
They have comfy homes.
Depleted uranium, smarter bombs
And Tommy Franks on call
An embarrassment to the dumber blonds
Who have to work at all.
But one for dad and the Gipper too
In a quick killing spasm
George W. Bush and his crew
Will at last have their wargasm.
Paul Pat Morse '03
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