They want to make football So safe people can play it tutus The perfect revenge of dweebs and geeks And other uncool kids from high school Who spent their lives pushing projectors Down high school halls While jocks pulled down their pants The kids who always hid out In the AV room till their skin got so white They looked like vampires, Growing up into pathetic people Like Jobs or Zuckerman In a desperate attempt to get even For all the slights they suffered as kids, Turning the world’s population Into zombies All too consumed by staring Into tiny screens To actually live in the real world, High profile geeks and egg heads Plotting the end of the culture of jocks By making it as safe and remote As the AV room that bred the geeks Like mold, Creating a world not to make football safe But them safe from football.
Hillary and Barack Need to put on more lipstick and eye gloss And keep their speech making to Nevada where prostitution is is legal, and pigs can dress up like ordinary people while selling their souls to Satan for hundreds of thousands of dollars a pop. Political whores are nothing new. But these two take it all to a new level High priced hookers Who aren’t worth the experience Since they both already screwed us, And now expect us to pay after the fact, Making us suffer through speeches Of how great one was in the White House And other great the other might have been, When we all know both were And would be a national disaster Making any hurricane look tame How many times do we need to hear How Hillary got caught with her fingers In the cookie jar And is looking to blame anybody Everybody else for being uncovered, Printing her national embarrassment In a pathetic diatribe About how the Russians robbed her Bernie robbed her, The FBI robbed her When we all know she robbed herself, Her crimes exasperated by clowns like Colbert Booking her act on late night TV At least, if these two kept to Las Vegas We could better recognize What a side show they are, And how they continue their con job And get paid big bucks for it, And we would know how much they would Screw us in the future If either of them ever got the chance Again.
You would think that funny men Who are not funny Would have better things to do Than pick the pockets of working people Selling snake oil to laborers they secretly hate The not so funny sons and daughters Of working class who put on airs Desperate to shape themselves Into some sort of pseudo intellectuals So they don’t have to admit Where they came from Ashamed of the grease stains On their father’s coveralls And the dirt under their father’s nails, Funny men who stopped being funny When they started to hobnob With Nouveau riche like themselves A private Liberal social club To which working people are not invited Selling snake oil so that their rich doctor Friends can continue to drive Mercedes And their insurance executives can Continue to drink the blood of those Of us who actually have to pay the bills, Snobbish would be funny men Thinking their shit doesn’t stink, Oozing morality they can never possibly Live up to.
What will you do, Nancy Pelosi,
When your own kind turn on you,
Like the pack of wolves they are,
Bearing their fangs at you
Because you dare to do
Anything they do not like,
This spoiled breed of beat
We all created back in Kindergarten
When we gave them all awards
Because we did not wish for them to feel bad
When they did not have the right stuff
To complete and always lost,
They are still losers and we coddle them,
As if they are stiff infants
When they are really wolves
Dressed in infants’ clothing,
Ready to tear your throat out
When they don’t get what they want
Or what they think they deserve
We can’t blame their parents
For loving them to much
As to make them into the spoiled brats
They have become,
We must blame ourselves
For letting it get out of hand,
For not putting our foot down
When we still could,
Before the wolf cubs grew fangs
And a taste for blood
Even your blood, Nancy Pelosi,
Or anyone else’s
That gets in their way.
They bring their children here to find salvation
Desperate souls from places
we’ve made into slave colonies
Where we tear down trees
so we can feed the cattle
That feeds us our McDonalds burgers
Or where they build dark factories
to make the sneakers we jog in
Or dig the raw materials
so we can have our I-Phones
Stitching shirts with logos
we wear while out at the cafes
With words like “peace” or “Love”
or “Not my president”
Meaningless words
we spew during our protests
Deliberately blind to the warlords and street gangs
That inspire these families
to drag their kids here,
Gangs that beat and exploit them
As much as we did at a distance,
Parents desperate to rain their kids in a place
Where there is less of this,
Unaware until too late that they bring the warlords
And street gangs with them,
And they in their misguided belief they do their children well
But dumping them on the door step on the evil people
Whose sneakers and i-pads, shirts and hamburgers
Created the living hell from which they flee
So their children might grow up to become the remote
Warlords like us,
wearing the same t-shirts, carrying the same i-pads
Eating the same hamburgers
that enslaved them in the first place,
Dreamers dreaming of a better life just like us
I would love to love you, Steven Colbert
But nobody can love you
As much as you already love yourself,
That self aggrandizement
That exudes from you like sweat,
A stench so raunchy we need no hound dog
To find you lost in the woods,
Their howl not lush from your scent
But a desperation to escape from it,
You that desperate drama queen locked in a media castle
Standing in front of your magic mirror
Asking who is the fairest in the land
And getting vindictive when it says it isn’t you,
You clinging to your watcher rating charts
As you sell yourself as a new Moses
Ready to lead your flock of melting snowflakes
As deluded about reality as you are
Each believing like you they are the fairest
In the land, when they like you, are simply spoiled,
I would love to love you, Steven Colbert,
A media hog, brimming over with self-loathing,
A dirty little mean queen collecting corporate cash
For each twisted little thing that drips out of
Your pathetic little mouth,
Seeing your true self in a distorted mirror,
a perverted little man with a exaggerated ego
And thinking of course it must be someone else
Everybody needs to wear a big red nose So we all can recognize who they are, And big toed shoes that flop when they walk, And baggy red, white and blue pants. Exposing once and for all The truth about our taking ourselves Way too seriously, full of outrage And presumption of morality, If we all had red noses and big toed shoes Nobody could possibly take us Seriously the way they mistakenly do now, We wearing our true selves on our sleeves For everybody to see, when we walk When we walk, when we pretend We are something better than we are, Red nose and wild green wigs, And a old fashion bicycle horn We squeeze to make some noise, The foolish sound coming out of the horn Instead of our mouths.
