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A folk singer named John McCutcheon is in the habit of co-writing songs. In the case of the following song, McCutcheon used a famous collaborator: George W. Bush. The following lyrics are verbatim, merely reassembled so that they rhyme. The song can be found on a CD entitled "Fish Out of Water 3," a promotion of WMNF-FM community radio.
Well, I was born in west Texas, pretty near California,
Far away from Dad’s home in D.C.
Well, I’m talking about myself, and they’re talking about myself,
All of us are talking about me.
Now, some may retort, “Personal attacks.”
Take the high horse and claim the low road.
But I am not a revengeful person;
I’ll simply respond with this ode.
When I delivered the State of the Budget address,
I offered up a question or two.
How can a man still put food on his family?
Will the toll booth to the middle class become more few?
No, it’s time to make the pie higher.
This idea is sure to resignate.
This is no time to be subliminable —
It’s time to unificate.
You see, when there’s more trade, there’s more commerce,
And we’ll bring this solution to an end —
Even if your business is hispanically owned,
Whether you speak French or Mexican.
We’re working for a hopefuller country,
No longer balkanized.
Where humans and fish can coexist,
And each act civilized.
I think we can all agree that the past is over,
But still we’re held hostile everywhere.
These days we don’t know who they are,
But we certainly know that they’re there.
No longer inoculated by the mistakes of the past,
With a foreign-handed foreign policy,
We’ll keep good relations with Kosovoans and Grecians,
And avoid emotionality.
Now, we all know that reading is the basics of learning,
And learning . . . well, I forget the rest.
But teach a child to read and he or her
Will pass a literacy test.
So I ask you, is our children learning?
Will we tolerate failed subsidization?
Or will this be where wings take dream
And not a cufflink of federalization?
So if you’re tired of the politics of polls and principles,
It’s time that you joined his campaign.
See, we’re looking for women who will serve this country,
And never the House will they stain.
With our basics as the faith of our faith,
Where a troop can house his family,
We’ll find power to power the power of the power plants.
No, you’d best not misunderestimate me.
With every word and every breath
Our language dies a slow, sad death.
Hail to the chief, let’s give him hail —
Part Yogi Berra, part Dan Quayle.