Mad Dog John McCain Bombs Again

Get a life, John McCain: Now. Tonight.
We're so sick of you and all your slogans trite
Face it: you lost back in 'Nam
So you'll never sell your scam
That if given one more chance you'll do it right

You couldn't fly a plane to save your ass
Now you want to peddle jokes of bombing crass
Seems your time spent in the clink
Never caused you much to think
Of the people down below whom you would gas

Not a pretty sight, your abject lack of grace
Seems some stitches you should once again replace
Then each time you kiss the bum
Of some vicious right-wing scum
You'll get less shit on your sagging, lifted face

Don't you know when you're not wanted, John McCain?
Have you no conception of the grief and pain
That your hero George has wrought
Even though he never fought
In the war that you forgot for your own gain?

Why on earth do you suppose that we would choose
Such a reckless fool as you to light the fuse
Of another needless crime
That you'd start to pass the time
Just until you show another way to lose?

One can summarize your policy insane
As a take-off on the Third Reich’s brutal bane:
“Where our soldier plants his boot
On some foreign country’s loot
Why then, there forever after he’ll remain”

Not a dollar for a doctor, school, or job;
Yet more billions for some bombs that you can lob
At those hapless foreign souls
Whom you brutalize for polls
Claiming that your “straight talk” lies persuade the mob

Oh, I hope you get that nomination soon
Then your party can collapse into a swoon
From the stench that fills the air
Of that albatross you wear
Dead as your career: you clueless, crude cartoon!

Michael Murry, "The Misfortune Teller," Copyright 2007, 2008