Sunday, February 6, 2011

Poem

Poor boy sells crack: does hard time.
Retired Bush fucked up the world: plays nine
If the White House doesn't need him to call
His potatodick friends and ask them for all
The favors back. Laura, the kids, they're all doin' fiiiiine.
The whole Bush clan knows what button to push
To transfer the cash just before the putsch.
In that, they were instructed quite well.
Even the ones that can't count will avoid our hell.

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