The Jury Talks Back


Fat Tony Sings

Filed under: Uncategorized — fat tony @ 7:20 pm

Hi all,

I don’t write much here because you all seem to have the bases covered. I haven’t really had much to add, but I want to try. Unfortunately, incisive political commentary, amazing research skills and timeliness aren’t my strong suits. For the next few days I’ll put up some older pieces I’ve done. Let me know if you want to see more (or less). And let me know if language is an issue. We can’t all be Scott Jacobs. :-)

This is a piece I put up back when I thought there was no way that this country would elect Barack Obama. I think it was right around the time of the seal. There are a lot of things I would fix now. Mostly, though, I want to make clear that I am not a Birther, I just like tweaking the O-bots. And, if you read that far, please realize I’m not mocking Michelle Obama’s looks, but Barack caught in flagrante. Jeez, the bases we have to cover anymore…

(after Gilbert and Sullivan (and Iowahawk!); to be played on a rusty calliope)

I’m the very model of a modern Candidate-General.
I’ve information vegetable (especially arugul…)
Uh…uh… O! I am clean and bright and uh…uh… articulate.
Did I ever tell you, from Harvard Law did I matriculate?
I’m very well acquainted, too, with people communistical.
I ditch them when they “dis” me Kos I’m very egotistical.
With my flip-flopping positions, it seems I’m always in the news.
But be assured I’ll screw Israel Kos it’s full of fucking Joos

But be assured He’ll screw Israel Kos it’s full of fucking Joos!
We’re sure He’ll screw Israel with a “Farrakhan you” to the Joos!
Yes, rest assured He’ll screw Israel Kos it’s Pfleging full of Joos!

Tell the bitter clingy yokels I’m THE post racial candidate
Do not look behind the curtain; ignore my church that preaches hate.
I said, in matters vegetable (especially arugul…)
Uh, let’s say I’m a suitable modern Candidate General.

He said, in matters vegetable (especially arugul…)
O! says that He’s a suitable modern Candidate General.
You have read my mythic histories, how Barry became Barack.
Who’s sayin’ Obama cannot win? This election is a lock!
I need to buy a longer bus cuz there’s no more room below it.
That’s where past and present friends go cuz I don’t intend to blow it.
Samantha Powers and Jim Johnson and ole Jeremiah Wright
Goolsby and my own Grandma (did I ever tell you she is white?).
My flag-trampling friend Bill Ayers, yes, the man I barely even know,
Has an “explosive” personality, so he’ll be last to go.

His “explosive” personality, ensures he’ll be last to go!
It’s just like it was in the 60’s: he’s always the last to go!
If your Daddy always paid your bills, then you would be last to go!

In Illinois or D.C., I’ve never written legislation.
Hope and change! And… change and hope! are all I need to run this nation.
I said, in matters vegetable (I really dig arugul…)
Uh… Hey! Why shouldn’t I be your modern Candidate General?

He said, in matters vegetable (He wants some more arugul…).
Uh… Hey! Why shouldn’t He be our modern Candidate General?

Gather round my children and hear of my birth parthenogenic.
Where? No one cares! But for that, I’ve a memory photogenic.
No Rezko, no reward, I say, and I’m the chance you have to take.
George’s third or Jimmy’s second–a momentous choice for you to make.
I’ll pick Judges with my heart–behold your superlegislature!
Recede, ye tides (Canute abides); let us all go back to nature.
First, turn in your smokes (I need the tokes; gum and patches will not do).
Now take your naps, then it’s dreamcatchers, kumbayas and scoubidou.

We’ll take our naps, then it’s dreamcatchers, kumbayas and scoubidou!
Did you hear that, Shaggy? Dreamcatchers, kumbayas and Scooby Doo!
The lightworker bestows dreamcatchers, kumbayas and more for you!

Look on my works, ye puny: I’m the reborn Ozymandias.
Your usual lives are past. Just ask “What does He demand of us?”
Now eat your matters vegetable (but leave for Me arugul…)
Uh… Well, ain’t I more than just your modern Candidate General?

We’ll eat our matters vegetable (but for divine arugul…)
Uh! This tastes gross, but He’s our modern Candidate General.

In my youth I went around the world, and studied in madrassa.
Michelle says the worm has turned: Whitey, behold your new Messiah.
I don’t know jack ’bout wars and such: only that I’ll bring the troops home.
I have got a shiny pretty seal; it only lacks a coxcomb.
John McSame is a confused old lame, but don’t let it get you down:
I’ll tax your gas, brunch in Tehran, and I’ll bike all around the town.
Hey, it’s tricky to rock a rhyme that’s right on time, tr-tr- tricky.
But I’m a Candidate General so tricky, so tr-trrrrrrrrricky!

He is a Candidate General so tricky, so tr-trrrrrrrrricky!
He’s tricky, so Tricky Dicky tricky (how is it B?) Tricky!
For a hopey changey changer, He’s ticky tacky tr-trrrrrrrrricky!

My father figures taught me, when you act, do so audaciously.
Had Hillary just dumped Bill, she’d have won this so bodaciously.
That said, in matters vegetable (hands off of my arugul…)
Uh… Ha! Suckas! I’m your only modern Candidate General.

Again? With matters vegetable (and what’s with the arugul…)?
Uh… Ok, The Possum is our modern Candidate General.

I’ve got my cash, it’s quite the stash, and I will spend it as I please.
I pledged WHAT? Soros says, I’ve tyrants to appease.
Anointed not elected; let us not think of twenty-twelve.
Free health care, and roses everywhere; no depths I will not delve.
Forgiven loans, and pinafores and (why not?) Alinsky primers
I’m your blank screen, your empty suit, to put fruit on my kids’ dinners.
I’ll shit unicorns and rainbows–y amigos, si se puede!
Solar bikes on moonlit nights; at my name, you’ll want to cry Mayday!

Solar bikes on moonlit nights; at His name we’ll want to cry Mayday!
Why not trikes, on sunlit nights? We hear His name and we cry Mayday!
He is Alpha and Omega and soon you will all cry Mayday!

I bend the laws of space and time; everything is malleable.
I’m Kenyan, Muslim, apostate; yet this year I am “sale”able.
Listen, in matters vegetable (You know I mean arugul…)
Uh… Screw you! I’m your new eternal Presidente General.

We’ve heard, in matters vegetable (for Barack’s sake! arugul…)
Uh… Screw us? We sought a Christ, not a Presidente General.

Global warming cooling climate change, I’ll milk it for its worth, fools
If I play my cards right, I’ll soon be Emperor of the North Poles.
I decree there’ll be no more drilling, whether off our shores or no.
You no like?–take a hike (you need the walk) ANWR you gonna go?!
Scarlett hearts me, artsy-fartsy hearts me! But it’s all political
Michelle I tell you. You believe her or your shrewd politico?
OW! Motherf… Of my children. Tell me true: Is it my socks again?
Let us “dap”, but just a tap. OW! Michelle you…’re pretty in the rain?

Don’t look at us, You are on Your own. (In four years we’ll try again)
No, huh? You’re the Rock of my uh… Gibraltar! Let us off to Spain!
OW! Motherf… Uh… OW! The press is here. OW! and soon we must deplane?

She’s the best–she rules this nest, and “pulli domum adsidere”
It’s bacon and waffles until I die, or out on my derri-
Airs, airs, (and a well-timed hook) have laid me low. Don’t look funereal.
Know this: you may duck and weave, but must tack right for the General.

No Chorus? In my few years, I’ve used these flap-doodle ears: hear all,
You may duck, bob and weave, but you must tack right for the General.

Coming, Dear and Chief! Uh… I was momentarily distracted.
No, NOT her. FAUX News claims our campaign is verily impacted.
O! and all the Greenwalds too? Am I losing the progressives?
McCain wants a hundred years of war, our country is recessive.
Berate the Manchurian Candidate; talk about his temper.
Then juxtapose my baritone with his whiny little timbre.
Some will sigh, but ’til pigs fly, I’ll decry his negativity.
They’ll be sold, return to my fold and sing of my nativity.

Truth be told, this is getting old. No time for inactivity.
Though in tales old the wolf on the fold fell before passivity
Our tinpot god must give a nod to our new aggressivity.

You’ll come back, come back to worship my intellect so towering.
I’m not the Me you knew, but remember: I don’t do cowering.
Fifty-seven states–some will take my bait and then I’ll win her all.
Wait! It’s staff’s mistake! I have to speak in tongues for the general!

… … … … … … … … (chirp, chirp) … … … … … …
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