Thursday, January 09, 2003
Under Protest II
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Ahhh…it was so simple back then. All those earnest young voices swelling all over America, Strum-a-strum-strum…strum-strum. Rightness! Solidarity! The welling out of feeling! Growing together into today’s torrent of left wing intellectual onanism.
OK, one more time. Form a circle, get out those cheap Silvertone guitars and SING OUT. Hey you!—yeah you, with the harmonica…down in front! In C, F & G7 and don’t forget—from the top of the vocal cords and through your nose…
(Blowin’ In) Bob’s Wind
How many gowns must a cross dresser own
Before you don’t call him a man?
Yes, 'n how many seas must a cat paddle through
Before it crawls up on the sand?
Yes, 'n how many times must appeasement be tried,
Makin’ sure that more cannonballs land?
The answer, good bud, ain’t hidin’ in this crud,
The answer ain’t hidin’ in this crud.
How many times will a druggie light up
Before seeing “De Plane!!” in the sky?
Yes, 'n how many protesters sat on their ass
And sang while they “heard” people cry?
Yes, 'n how many deaths will it take till they know
That tyrants cause millions to die?
The answer, good bud, ain’t hidin’ in this crud,
Could be, it’s right there in the mud.
How many years can a fountain spray mist
Before it will fill up the sea?
Yes, 'n how many years will “wind” people resist
Knowing just what it costs to be free?
Yes, 'n how many times can a man sneak a smoke,
Pretending he just has to pee?
The answers, “mah fr’ind,” were blowin’ in Bob’s wind.
But Bob’s wind has brought us too much blood.
Right. The way I hear it, the only wind Bob worries about these days is the one across the fairways.
“…If God’s on our side, we’ll two-putt the next hole”
Link via Tim Blair
posted by Stephen at 7:18 AM | Plink
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