This is a song by John McCutcheon, with the Help of Our Glorious Leader.
Quote:
Hail to the Chief
Music by John McCutcheon
Words (entirely) by George W. Bush
Spoken:
I was raised in West Texas, pretty near California
Far away from Dad’s home in DC
When I’m talkin’ 'bout myself and
They’re talking 'bout myself
All of us are talkin’ about me
Now some may retort to personal attacks
Take the high horse then claim the low road
But I’m not a revengeful person
I’ll simply respond with this ode
When I delivered the State of the Budget Address
I offered a question or two
How can a man still put food on his family
Will the tollbooth to the middle class become more few?
It’s time to make the pie higher
This idea’s sure to resignate
This is no time to be subliminable
It’s a time to unificate
If there’s more trade, there’s more commerce
And we’ll bring this solution to an end
Even if your business is Hispanically owned
If you speak French or Mexican
We’re working for a hopefuller country
No longer vulcanized
Where humans and fish can coexist
And each act civilized
I think we can agree, the past is over
Still we’re held hostile everywhere
Today we’re not so sure who “they” are
But still, we know that they’re there
No longer inoculated from what is coming
With a foreign-handed foreign policy
Keep good relations with Kosovoans and Grecians
And resist emotionality
We know reading is the basics of learning
And learning…well…I forget the rest
But teach a child to read and he or her
Will be sure to pass a literacy test
So I ask you, “Is our children learning?”
Will we tolerate failed subsidation
Or will this be where wings finally take dream
Not a cufflink of federalization
So if you’re tired of the politics of polls and of principles
It’s time that you join this campaign
We’re looking for women who while serving our country
Never the house will they stain
Where our priorities is 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
Sung:
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
©2001 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
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[ October 15, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]