The inspectors came and looked,
And looked, and looked, and looked, and looked.
They looked high and they looked low,
Every place that they could go.
They looked in every hole and crack,
Each drawer and closet, bag and sack.
They found nothing in a trunk-or
Even in my private bunker.
They did not find a single stash
Of weapons of destruction (mass) ...
And STILL you won't get off my a**!
I've done all that I can do.
The rest, dear Bush, is up to you.
Please don't be angry, don't be sore.
We don't need to have a war.
Let's go back to the good old days
When your dad and Reagan sang my praise.
I was your faithful ally then.
Why can't we be friends again?
I say, let's let this whole thing drop.
(My best regards to your dear Pop.)
Monday, January 13, 2003