Battle Hymn of the Republicans:

*BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLICANS
>
> Mine Eyes have seen the bungling of that stumbling moron Bush; he has
> blathered all the drivel that the neo-cons can push; he has lost sight
> of all reason 'cause his head is up his tush; The Doofus marches on.*
> *I have heard him butcher syntax like a kindergarten fool; There is
> warranted suspicion that he never went to school; Should we fault him
> for the policies - or is he just their tool?
> The lies keep piling on.
>
> Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
> Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
> Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
> His wreckage will live on.
>
> I have seen him cut the taxes of the billionaires' lone heir; As he
> spends another zillion on an aircraft carrier; Let the smokestacks keep
> polluting - do we really need clean air?
> The surplus is now gone.
>
> Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
> Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
> Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
> Your safety net is gone!
> *
> *Now he's got a mighty hankerin' to bomb a prostrate state; Though the
> whole world knows its crazy and the U.N. says to wait; When he doesn't
> have the evidence, "We must prevaricate."
> Diplomacy is done!
>
> Oh, a trumped-up war is excellent; we have no moral bounds; Should the
> reasons be disputed, we'll just make up other grounds; Enraging several
> billions - to his brainlessness redounds; The Doofus marches on!
> *
> *Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
> Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
> Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
> THIS...DOO...FUS...MAR...CHES...ON*
>
>

Ah, look at all the hopeless losers!
Ah, look at all the well-paid cronies!

Harriet Miers picks up the rice in the church
and eats it for lunch,
She likes the crunch.
Waits at the window, wearing a wig
That she keeps in a jar by the door,
Who was it for?

All the worthless has-beens, where do they all come from?
All the right-wing bozos, where do they all belong?

L. "Scooter" Libby, writing the words of a memo
That no one will read.
(No one can read.)
Look at him stumble, throwing his crutches at night
When there's nobody there, what does he care?

All the Bush ass-kissers, where do they all come from?
All the friends of Cheney, where do they all belong?

Ah, look at all those pudgy people!
Ah, look at all those ugly mug shots!

Poor Michael Brown, died in the church and was buried
A True Fashion God.
Heckuva job.
See Donald Rumsfeld wiping the dirt from his hands
As he walks to his grave
No one was saved.

All the Bush appointees, where do they all come from?
All the rich white felons, where do they all belong?

and arranged it in stanzas for easy cut & paste.
Do you know who wrote it?
Welcome to DU.
:hi:

BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLICANS

Mine Eyes have seen the bungling of that stumbling moron Bush;
He has blathered all the drivel that the neo-cons can push;
He has lost sight of all reason 'cause his head is up his tush;
The Doofus marches on.

I have heard him butcher syntax like a kindergarten fool;
There is warranted suspicion that he never went to school;
Should we fault him for the policies - or is he just their tool?
The lies keep piling on.

Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
His wreckage will live on.

I have seen him cut the taxes of the billionaires' lone heir;
As he spends another zillion on an aircraft carrier;
Let the smokestacks keep polluting - do we really need clean air?
The surplus is now gone.

Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
Your safety net is gone!

Now he's got a mighty hankerin' to bomb a prostrate state;
Though the whole world knows its crazy and the U.N. says to wait;
When he doesn't have the evidence, "We must prevaricate."
Diplomacy is done!

Oh, a trumped-up war is excellent; we have no moral bounds;
Should the reasons be disputed, we'll just make up other grounds;
Enraging several billions - to his brainlessness redounds;
The Doofus marches on!

Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
THIS...DOO...FUS...MAR...CHES...ON*

I got it in an email this morning; I'll try to find out.