Mott the Hoople
Sweet Jane
I thought this was so much better then "Obama at the Bat" that I had to start a competing thread! 
Originally posted on November of 2006 by Mott The Hoople
W at the Bat; (With Apologies to Ernest L. Thayer)
The out look wasn’t brilliant
for the Right Wing 9 that day.
The score stood at 4 to 2
with but one inning left to play.
And then when Cheney died at first
and Rumsfield did the same.
A sickly silence fell upon
the patriots of the game.
A straggling few got up to go,
in deep despair,
The rest clung to that hope
that springs eternal in the red-neck breast.
If only W could but get a whack at that,
they’d put up tax-payers money now
with W at the bat.
But Limbaugh preceded W,
as did also Tom Delay;
and the former was a lard-ass
while the later was afraid.
So upon the stricken ditto-heads,
who grim with melancholy prayed,
For there seemed but little chance
of W getting in to play.
But Limbaugh let go a single,
to the wonderment of all;
While Delay, the much despised,
tore the cover off the ball!
And when the dust had settled;
and the Neocons saw what had occurred.
Delay was safe at second
and Limbaugh had eaten third!
Then from five thousand fundamentalist
there rose a mighty prayer;
It rumbled through right wing radio
and it echoed upon cable TV air;
It pounded on through Wall Street
and it recoiled upon the Dixiecrats.
For W, Mighty W was advancing to the bat!
There was suspicion in W’s manner
as he stepped into his place;
There was cockiness in W’s bearing
and megalomania lit W’s face.
And when responding to the cheers
W coldly slapped a bat boy Democrat.
No good ole boy in the crowd could doubt
Twas W at the bat!
Ten thousand eyes were on him
as he kicked the bat boy to the dirt.
Five thousand tongues applauded
when he spat upon his shirt!
Then while the Lefty Pitcher
ground the ball upon his hip.
Confusion glared in W’s eyes
and a smirk curled W’s lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere
comes hurting through the air.
And W stood a-watching
with a blank befuddled stare.
Close by the shaky patrician,
the ball unheeded sped.
That’s way to fast! Said W.
Strike one! The Umpire said.
From the benches, black with Ditto-heads,
there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of a tax collector
on a barred and locked front door.
Impeach him, Impeach the Umpire,
shouted the Fox News broadcaster from the Stand.
And it’s likely they’d have impeached him
had not W raised his hand.
With a smile of evangelical charity
great W’s visage shone.
He stilled the rising tumult
he bad the game go on.
He signaled up to Lefty
and once more the dun spheroid flew.
But W refused to see it
and the Umpire said “Strike two!”
“Fraud!” Cried the red state electorate
and echoed answered “Fraud”
But one spiteful look from W
and the audience was awed!
They saw his face grow concerned and cold,
they watched his blood drain.
And everyone prayed that W
wouldn’t let the ball go by again!
The smirk has fled from W’s lip,
his teeth are clenched in hate.
And he whines with misplaced anxiety
about his sordid fate.
And now Lefty holds the ball
and now he lets it go
And now the air is shattered
by the force of Lefty’s throw!
Oh somewhere out in Jesusland
the sun is shining bright.
The preachers are ranting somewhere
and somewhere taxes are light
And somewhere women are chattel
and Bill O’Reily pouts.
But there is no joy in RightWingLand
Mighty W has Struck Out!
Originally posted on November of 2006 by Mott The Hoople
W at the Bat; (With Apologies to Ernest L. Thayer)
The out look wasn’t brilliant
for the Right Wing 9 that day.
The score stood at 4 to 2
with but one inning left to play.
And then when Cheney died at first
and Rumsfield did the same.
A sickly silence fell upon
the patriots of the game.
A straggling few got up to go,
in deep despair,
The rest clung to that hope
that springs eternal in the red-neck breast.
If only W could but get a whack at that,
they’d put up tax-payers money now
with W at the bat.
But Limbaugh preceded W,
as did also Tom Delay;
and the former was a lard-ass
while the later was afraid.
So upon the stricken ditto-heads,
who grim with melancholy prayed,
For there seemed but little chance
of W getting in to play.
But Limbaugh let go a single,
to the wonderment of all;
While Delay, the much despised,
tore the cover off the ball!
And when the dust had settled;
and the Neocons saw what had occurred.
Delay was safe at second
and Limbaugh had eaten third!
Then from five thousand fundamentalist
there rose a mighty prayer;
It rumbled through right wing radio
and it echoed upon cable TV air;
It pounded on through Wall Street
and it recoiled upon the Dixiecrats.
For W, Mighty W was advancing to the bat!
There was suspicion in W’s manner
as he stepped into his place;
There was cockiness in W’s bearing
and megalomania lit W’s face.
And when responding to the cheers
W coldly slapped a bat boy Democrat.
No good ole boy in the crowd could doubt
Twas W at the bat!
Ten thousand eyes were on him
as he kicked the bat boy to the dirt.
Five thousand tongues applauded
when he spat upon his shirt!
Then while the Lefty Pitcher
ground the ball upon his hip.
Confusion glared in W’s eyes
and a smirk curled W’s lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere
comes hurting through the air.
And W stood a-watching
with a blank befuddled stare.
Close by the shaky patrician,
the ball unheeded sped.
That’s way to fast! Said W.
Strike one! The Umpire said.
From the benches, black with Ditto-heads,
there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of a tax collector
on a barred and locked front door.
Impeach him, Impeach the Umpire,
shouted the Fox News broadcaster from the Stand.
And it’s likely they’d have impeached him
had not W raised his hand.
With a smile of evangelical charity
great W’s visage shone.
He stilled the rising tumult
he bad the game go on.
He signaled up to Lefty
and once more the dun spheroid flew.
But W refused to see it
and the Umpire said “Strike two!”
“Fraud!” Cried the red state electorate
and echoed answered “Fraud”
But one spiteful look from W
and the audience was awed!
They saw his face grow concerned and cold,
they watched his blood drain.
And everyone prayed that W
wouldn’t let the ball go by again!
The smirk has fled from W’s lip,
his teeth are clenched in hate.
And he whines with misplaced anxiety
about his sordid fate.
And now Lefty holds the ball
and now he lets it go
And now the air is shattered
by the force of Lefty’s throw!
Oh somewhere out in Jesusland
the sun is shining bright.
The preachers are ranting somewhere
and somewhere taxes are light
And somewhere women are chattel
and Bill O’Reily pouts.
But there is no joy in RightWingLand
Mighty W has Struck Out!
