It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Fitzmas
(Sung to the tune of "It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas" by Bing Crosby)
Satire about the criminal indictment of Scooter Libby, and possible future indictments of Karl Rove, Dick Cheney and other members of the corrupt Bush Administration, by U.S. Attorney Patrick Fitzgerald's investigation of Treasongate (aka the Valerie Plame affair)
Click HERE for MIDI music
(instrumental intro)
It's beginning to look a lot like Fitzmas.
Plame Affair, you know?
White House crooks, soon indicted, spin;
Excuses are sounding thin.
It looks quite plain that Libby's pain will grow.
It's beginning to look a lot like Fitzmas.
Boy, is Dubya sore!
But the prettiest sight to see
Are indictments there will be.
Rove has lost his war.
For war, the neocon brutes and the corporate suits
Got their wish through big lies and spin.
Squealers now talk to avoid the perp walk;
Bush the Dope is feeling chagrin,
From polls so bad; his regime's fate: to crumble from within.
It's beginning to look a lot like Fitzmas.
Plame Affair has showed...
Through the grand jury, it's been hell.
For Bush, it's too dark to tell
Grand jury's mind or what they'll find, explode.
It's beginning to look a lot like Fitzmas
Soon, more hell will start.
Bush the King could lose everything...
To Fitzgerald, squealers sing 'bout who did take part.
(instrumental break)
It's beginning to look a lot like Fitzmas
Soon, more hell will start.
Bush the King could lose everything...
To Fitzgerald, squealers sing... 'bout who did take part...
Traitors' mission... for war.
Friday, October 28, 2005
Merry Fitzmas! Scooter Libby scoots after indictment and resigns
... Meanwhile, Karl Rove awaits his fate
... Meanwhile, Karl Rove awaits his fate
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
This song parody was posted in the comments section of the Arianna Huffington Post blog:
Have Ourselves A Merry Little Fitzmas
(Parody lyrics by BobbyG)
(Sung to the tune of "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas")
Click HERE for MIDI music
Have ourselves A Merry Little Fitzmas,
Make our nation right,
From now on
The WHIGs will all be in plain sight.
Have ourselves A Merry Little Fitzmas,
Make those bastards pay.
From now on
Indictments will have made our day.
Here we are, charges coming soon,
The Grand Jury's tune will roar.
Rule of law once so dear to us
Gathers near to us once more.
Through the years
They all will be together,
If Club Fed allows.
We could hang them all from just the highest boughs.
But have ourselves A Merry Little Fitzmas now.
Posted by: BobbyG on October 24, 2005 at 11:46am
Have Ourselves A Merry Little Fitzmas
(Parody lyrics by BobbyG)
(Sung to the tune of "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas")
Click HERE for MIDI music
Have ourselves A Merry Little Fitzmas,
Make our nation right,
From now on
The WHIGs will all be in plain sight.
Have ourselves A Merry Little Fitzmas,
Make those bastards pay.
From now on
Indictments will have made our day.
Here we are, charges coming soon,
The Grand Jury's tune will roar.
Rule of law once so dear to us
Gathers near to us once more.
Through the years
They all will be together,
If Club Fed allows.
We could hang them all from just the highest boughs.
But have ourselves A Merry Little Fitzmas now.
Posted by: BobbyG on October 24, 2005 at 11:46am
Friday, October 21, 2005
The Empire Strikes Out
Editorial poem by the Vermont Guardian
http://www.vermontguardian.com/commentary/102005/October21Editorial.shtml
The oddmakers aren’t hopeful about the Bushland team today;
Their poll numbers are dropping fast with few years left to play.
Once Delay got indicted, with Rove facing much the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the masters of the game.
A frightened few broke with the pack, in deep despair. The Rest
Clung to faint hope which “springs eternal in the human breast”;
They thought their slugger still could rise from this Nixonian fate,
There’s yet a chance to tough it out with Georgie at the plate.
But Miers had the spotlight now, along with FEMA’s Brown,
And the former was a cipher while the latter was a clown;
So, upon that stricken GOP grim meloncholy sat,
For there seemed little chance that Georgie could rebound from that.
Still, Roberts surely proved his might, when Senators did call,
While Rummy, proud and much despised, lectured Congress, press, and all.
With arrogant deflections making greater public grief,
Torture flourished, and the High Court did receive a stealthy chief.
Although Miers claimed that Georgie was the smartest one of all,
And Brownie, also despised, had blamed the locals for his fall,
When all the dust had settled, Bushland saw what had occurred:
There was Scooter facing trouble, even Cheney’s future blurred.
Then from neo-cons and fundies there arose a lusty shout,
It rumbled from their choirs, which still had lots of clout,
It echoed from their think tanks, from O’Reilly and the like,
Yes, Georgie, mighty Georgie, was strutting to the mike.
There was anger in his manner as he fumbled for his place;
He would have to deal with questions and control his smirking face;
The press no longer seemed to buy his war on terror rap,
Some even said he lied and dumped us in a desert trap.
Doubts that once could be dismissed were now hard to ignore,
But all that Georgie had to offer had oft been heard before;
The people, they were asking, “Have we all been much misled?”
“That’s partisan,” snapped Georgie. “Strike one,” an anchor said.
From Robertson and Falwell’s folks came up a muffled roar,
Like the desperate howl of creatures who are threatened to the core.
“Kill him; kill the anchor!” Growled Cheney from his lair; —
A likely mission accomplished if the cameras weren’t there.
“How about Iraq’s vote counting,” asked a press guy, less than awed,
“You say they have gained freedom, but the signs point straight to fraud.”
Though Georgie didn’t see that coming, Rove told him what to do:
Blame al-Qaeda’s freedom haters. The anchor said, “Strike two.”
The smirk now gone from Georgie’s lips, his eyes began to blink;
It used to be such fun to rule, when others helped him think.
The questions kept on coming, as more old friends turn away,
Even 9/11 bluster could no longer save the day.
Oh! Somewhere in the U.S.A. there are still signs of hope;
The mighty right is falling, barely able now to cope.
And somewhere freedom rises, fueled by courage, truth, and doubt;
But there is no joy in Bushland — mighty Georgie has struck out.
With thanks to Ernest Lawrence Thayer, author of “Casey at the Bat.”
Editorial poem by the Vermont Guardian
http://www.vermontguardian.com/commentary/102005/October21Editorial.shtml
The oddmakers aren’t hopeful about the Bushland team today;
Their poll numbers are dropping fast with few years left to play.
Once Delay got indicted, with Rove facing much the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the masters of the game.
A frightened few broke with the pack, in deep despair. The Rest
Clung to faint hope which “springs eternal in the human breast”;
They thought their slugger still could rise from this Nixonian fate,
There’s yet a chance to tough it out with Georgie at the plate.
But Miers had the spotlight now, along with FEMA’s Brown,
And the former was a cipher while the latter was a clown;
So, upon that stricken GOP grim meloncholy sat,
For there seemed little chance that Georgie could rebound from that.
Still, Roberts surely proved his might, when Senators did call,
While Rummy, proud and much despised, lectured Congress, press, and all.
With arrogant deflections making greater public grief,
Torture flourished, and the High Court did receive a stealthy chief.
Although Miers claimed that Georgie was the smartest one of all,
And Brownie, also despised, had blamed the locals for his fall,
When all the dust had settled, Bushland saw what had occurred:
There was Scooter facing trouble, even Cheney’s future blurred.
Then from neo-cons and fundies there arose a lusty shout,
It rumbled from their choirs, which still had lots of clout,
It echoed from their think tanks, from O’Reilly and the like,
Yes, Georgie, mighty Georgie, was strutting to the mike.
There was anger in his manner as he fumbled for his place;
He would have to deal with questions and control his smirking face;
The press no longer seemed to buy his war on terror rap,
Some even said he lied and dumped us in a desert trap.
Doubts that once could be dismissed were now hard to ignore,
But all that Georgie had to offer had oft been heard before;
The people, they were asking, “Have we all been much misled?”
“That’s partisan,” snapped Georgie. “Strike one,” an anchor said.
From Robertson and Falwell’s folks came up a muffled roar,
Like the desperate howl of creatures who are threatened to the core.
“Kill him; kill the anchor!” Growled Cheney from his lair; —
A likely mission accomplished if the cameras weren’t there.
“How about Iraq’s vote counting,” asked a press guy, less than awed,
“You say they have gained freedom, but the signs point straight to fraud.”
Though Georgie didn’t see that coming, Rove told him what to do:
Blame al-Qaeda’s freedom haters. The anchor said, “Strike two.”
The smirk now gone from Georgie’s lips, his eyes began to blink;
It used to be such fun to rule, when others helped him think.
The questions kept on coming, as more old friends turn away,
Even 9/11 bluster could no longer save the day.
Oh! Somewhere in the U.S.A. there are still signs of hope;
The mighty right is falling, barely able now to cope.
And somewhere freedom rises, fueled by courage, truth, and doubt;
But there is no joy in Bushland — mighty Georgie has struck out.
With thanks to Ernest Lawrence Thayer, author of “Casey at the Bat.”
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Friday, October 07, 2005
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Harriet Miers Medley
(Sung to the tune of "My Baloney Has A First Name" and the "Oscar Meyer Wiener Jingle")
As sung by Emperor Dubya Bush:
My crony has a last name...
It's M-I-E-R-S.
If I put her on the Supreme Court,
She'll help to clean my mess.
People says she's underqualified,
But she's loyal to me; here's what I'll say:
She'll help Supreme Court rule my way,
For her boss, D-U-B-Y-A.
Oh, I wish to see my crony Miers a winner.
Then the Supreme Court will rule for me-e-e.
If she's confirmed, I'll always be a winner.
Stop impeachment, save my monarchy.
(Sung to the tune of "My Baloney Has A First Name" and the "Oscar Meyer Wiener Jingle")
As sung by Emperor Dubya Bush:
My crony has a last name...
It's M-I-E-R-S.
If I put her on the Supreme Court,
She'll help to clean my mess.
People says she's underqualified,
But she's loyal to me; here's what I'll say:
She'll help Supreme Court rule my way,
For her boss, D-U-B-Y-A.
Oh, I wish to see my crony Miers a winner.
Then the Supreme Court will rule for me-e-e.
If she's confirmed, I'll always be a winner.
Stop impeachment, save my monarchy.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Crony Court Club
(Sung to the tune of "The Mickey Mouse Club March")
Click HERE for MIDI music
As sung by Harriet Miers, Bush's boot-licking crony nominee to the U.S. Supreme Court:
Who's the leader who has sent Supreme Court slot my way?
G-E-O... R-G-E... D-U-B-Y-A!
Who can soon reward me with a lifetime job (hooray)?
G-E-O... R-G-E... D-U-B-Y-A!
Dubya Bush... Dubya Bush...
I hope my confirmation sails by...
Though my resume ain't long, Bush influence will sway.
G-E-O-R-G-E... D-U-B-Y-A!
(repeat verses)
(Sung to the tune of "The Mickey Mouse Club March")
Click HERE for MIDI music
As sung by Harriet Miers, Bush's boot-licking crony nominee to the U.S. Supreme Court:
Who's the leader who has sent Supreme Court slot my way?
G-E-O... R-G-E... D-U-B-Y-A!
Who can soon reward me with a lifetime job (hooray)?
G-E-O... R-G-E... D-U-B-Y-A!
Dubya Bush... Dubya Bush...
I hope my confirmation sails by...
Though my resume ain't long, Bush influence will sway.
G-E-O-R-G-E... D-U-B-Y-A!
(repeat verses)
On Top Are Bush Cronies
(Sung to the tune of "On Top Of Old Smoky")
Click HERE for MIDI music
(instrumental intro)
On top are Bush cronies;
They all have to go!
Lives lost through Bush-lovers,
Katrina did show.
Whose friends robbed our treasure?
Pretender-in-Chief.
New Orleans discovered
They'd get no relief.
Mike Brown would snow-job you;
So clueless, this knave
Shirked blame when New Orleans
Became a wet grave.
"Great job!" said George W,
To Brown, who went bust.
Competence trumped by friendship,
We no longer trust.
Bush bugged by big issues;
He'll tell you more lies
'Bout Iraq and his failed road;
Policies we despise.
Mike Chertoff was waitin'
For people to flee
Before he took action
With his bureaucracy.
Inept cronies who dither
While poor people die;
No blame Brown was takin'
As he said goodbye.
On top are Bush cronies;
They all have to go!
Lives lost through Bush-lovers,
Katrina did show.
(Sung to the tune of "On Top Of Old Smoky")
Click HERE for MIDI music
(instrumental intro)
On top are Bush cronies;
They all have to go!
Lives lost through Bush-lovers,
Katrina did show.
Whose friends robbed our treasure?
Pretender-in-Chief.
New Orleans discovered
They'd get no relief.
Mike Brown would snow-job you;
So clueless, this knave
Shirked blame when New Orleans
Became a wet grave.
"Great job!" said George W,
To Brown, who went bust.
Competence trumped by friendship,
We no longer trust.
Bush bugged by big issues;
He'll tell you more lies
'Bout Iraq and his failed road;
Policies we despise.
Mike Chertoff was waitin'
For people to flee
Before he took action
With his bureaucracy.
Inept cronies who dither
While poor people die;
No blame Brown was takin'
As he said goodbye.
On top are Bush cronies;
They all have to go!
Lives lost through Bush-lovers,
Katrina did show.
Make Harriet Supreme Court Judge
(Sung to the tune of "I'm Henry the 8th, I Am" by Herman's Hermits)
Click HERE for MIDI music
As sung by Emperor Dubya about his Supreme Court nominee Harriet Miers, an underqualified boot-licking crony who was Bush's former personal lawyer and has never served as a judge
Make Harriet Supreme Court Judge!
Harriet would be my loyal judge.
She had carried my water before;
Lick my boots forever, so she swore.
Now everyone picks on Harriet (Harriet)!
Even right wing thinks it's silly or a scam (what scam?)!
I'm the King, and I want Harriet...
Harriet, Supreme Court judge.
(Spoken: Second judge... ain't gonna budge!)
Make Harriet Supreme Court Judge!
Harriet would be my loyal judge.
She had carried my water before;
Lick my boots forever, so she swore.
Now everyone picks on Harriet (Harriet)!
Even right wing thinks it's silly or a scam (what scam?)!
I'm the King, and I want Harriet...
Harriet, Supreme Court judge.
(instrumental break)
Make Harriet Supreme Court Judge!
Harriet would be my loyal judge.
She had carried my water before;
Lick my boots forever, so she swore.
Now everyone picks on Harriet (Harriet)!
Even right wing thinks it's silly or a scam (what scam?)!
I'm the King, and I want Harriet...
Harriet, Supreme Court judge.
H... U... R-R-Y...
Hurry up... hurry up!
Harriet, Supreme Court judge, I want.
Harriet, new judge I want.
Yeah!
(Sung to the tune of "I'm Henry the 8th, I Am" by Herman's Hermits)
Click HERE for MIDI music
As sung by Emperor Dubya about his Supreme Court nominee Harriet Miers, an underqualified boot-licking crony who was Bush's former personal lawyer and has never served as a judge
Make Harriet Supreme Court Judge!
Harriet would be my loyal judge.
She had carried my water before;
Lick my boots forever, so she swore.
Now everyone picks on Harriet (Harriet)!
Even right wing thinks it's silly or a scam (what scam?)!
I'm the King, and I want Harriet...
Harriet, Supreme Court judge.
(Spoken: Second judge... ain't gonna budge!)
Make Harriet Supreme Court Judge!
Harriet would be my loyal judge.
She had carried my water before;
Lick my boots forever, so she swore.
Now everyone picks on Harriet (Harriet)!
Even right wing thinks it's silly or a scam (what scam?)!
I'm the King, and I want Harriet...
Harriet, Supreme Court judge.
(instrumental break)
Make Harriet Supreme Court Judge!
Harriet would be my loyal judge.
She had carried my water before;
Lick my boots forever, so she swore.
Now everyone picks on Harriet (Harriet)!
Even right wing thinks it's silly or a scam (what scam?)!
I'm the King, and I want Harriet...
Harriet, Supreme Court judge.
H... U... R-R-Y...
Hurry up... hurry up!
Harriet, Supreme Court judge, I want.
Harriet, new judge I want.
Yeah!
Don't Pile On Me 'Bout Katrina
(Sung to the tune of "Don't Cry For Me, Argentina" by Madonna - from the musical, "Evita")
Click HERE for MIDI music
As sung by clueless Emperor Dubya, the Master of Disaster, to Bushie loyalists, stunned by his plummeting polls for the bungled response of his administration to Hurricane Katrina:
(instrumental intro)
This job's not easy; can't think; in pain.
When I lie, I just drain my appeal.
Bushies, I'll need your love, after all I ain't done.
You don't believe me?!
All you now see is a world that's now screwed?
I know Brown's mess-up has defined
No fixes for current issues.
I had to let it happen, I refused to change.
Got my way all my life; how I feel.
Looking out for rich friends, though; there's a war to be won.
Iraq chose freedom.
Ignored the sound of the anti-war view.
Katrina made mess of it all.
I never expected it to....
Don't pile on me 'bout Katrina!
Keep truth hidden; it's no virtue.
So I took five days... to come from Texas.
New Orleans promised... fed'ral assistance.
My bad misfortune, for I'm to blame.
Forever blighted, can't win
Now it seems to the world: cronies, all I've hired.
I'm disillusioned!
More spin's not the solutions they promised to be.
My answers were fear and more slime.
I love you, and hope you love me.
Don't pile on me 'bout Katrina!
Keep truth hidden; it's no virtue.
So I took five days... to come from Texas.
New Orleans promised...
Don't pile on me 'bout Katrina!
Keep truth hidden; it's no virtue.
So I took five days... to come from Texas.
New Orleans promised...
(instrumental break)
Fed'ral assistance...
(instrumental break)
What I dread so much...
The country's sore; said I stink; they hate me, too.
So what I have to do is cook up more war, and slow
My poll fall, or I'm screwed!
Don't pile on me 'bout Katrina!
Keep truth hidden; it's no virtue.
So I took five days... to come from Texas.
New Orleans promised...
Don't pile on me 'bout Katrina!
Keep truth hidden; it's no virtue.
So I took five days... to come from Texas.
New Orleans promised... fed'ral assistance.
(instrumental break)
Fed'ral assistance.
(instrumental ending)
(Sung to the tune of "Don't Cry For Me, Argentina" by Madonna - from the musical, "Evita")
Click HERE for MIDI music
As sung by clueless Emperor Dubya, the Master of Disaster, to Bushie loyalists, stunned by his plummeting polls for the bungled response of his administration to Hurricane Katrina:
(instrumental intro)
This job's not easy; can't think; in pain.
When I lie, I just drain my appeal.
Bushies, I'll need your love, after all I ain't done.
You don't believe me?!
All you now see is a world that's now screwed?
I know Brown's mess-up has defined
No fixes for current issues.
I had to let it happen, I refused to change.
Got my way all my life; how I feel.
Looking out for rich friends, though; there's a war to be won.
Iraq chose freedom.
Ignored the sound of the anti-war view.
Katrina made mess of it all.
I never expected it to....
Don't pile on me 'bout Katrina!
Keep truth hidden; it's no virtue.
So I took five days... to come from Texas.
New Orleans promised... fed'ral assistance.
My bad misfortune, for I'm to blame.
Forever blighted, can't win
Now it seems to the world: cronies, all I've hired.
I'm disillusioned!
More spin's not the solutions they promised to be.
My answers were fear and more slime.
I love you, and hope you love me.
Don't pile on me 'bout Katrina!
Keep truth hidden; it's no virtue.
So I took five days... to come from Texas.
New Orleans promised...
Don't pile on me 'bout Katrina!
Keep truth hidden; it's no virtue.
So I took five days... to come from Texas.
New Orleans promised...
(instrumental break)
Fed'ral assistance...
(instrumental break)
What I dread so much...
The country's sore; said I stink; they hate me, too.
So what I have to do is cook up more war, and slow
My poll fall, or I'm screwed!
Don't pile on me 'bout Katrina!
Keep truth hidden; it's no virtue.
So I took five days... to come from Texas.
New Orleans promised...
Don't pile on me 'bout Katrina!
Keep truth hidden; it's no virtue.
So I took five days... to come from Texas.
New Orleans promised... fed'ral assistance.
(instrumental break)
Fed'ral assistance.
(instrumental ending)
Monday, October 03, 2005
Bush Can't Even Button His Shirt Right On National TV
(from Bush's speech on September 15, 2005, from New Orleans, after Hurricane Katrina struck the Gulf Coast)
Top 10 Reasons For Bush's Mis-buttoned Shirt (from The Daily Koz blog)
10: It gives the Prez that "it's hard work" look.
9: He was showing us that the right had superiority.
8: Everyone was too busy to worry about it.
7: It was passed Georgie's bedtime, and the fatigue had overcome him.
6: Bush's brain is still recovering from his Kidney Stones.
5: Karl Rove wants everyone talking about his shirt, not his speech.
4: Bush was creating a new fashion look.
3: Condi was on the trip.
2: No one dared to tell the emperor about his clothes.
1: His staff has figured that Bush is an idiot, and wanted him to fall on his face.
(from Bush's speech on September 15, 2005, from New Orleans, after Hurricane Katrina struck the Gulf Coast)
Top 10 Reasons For Bush's Mis-buttoned Shirt (from The Daily Koz blog)
10: It gives the Prez that "it's hard work" look.
9: He was showing us that the right had superiority.
8: Everyone was too busy to worry about it.
7: It was passed Georgie's bedtime, and the fatigue had overcome him.
6: Bush's brain is still recovering from his Kidney Stones.
5: Karl Rove wants everyone talking about his shirt, not his speech.
4: Bush was creating a new fashion look.
3: Condi was on the trip.
2: No one dared to tell the emperor about his clothes.
1: His staff has figured that Bush is an idiot, and wanted him to fall on his face.
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