(chicken, horse, and cattle sounds)

(CHORUS--ALL):
It's a Texas thang, ya'll, and we ain't got a clue
(We ain't got a clue) why our campaign blew
And we got them lies on that muthaf--ker, too.
It's a Texas swang, ya'll, and we ain't gotta trip
(Ain't gotta trip now) while we *screw and snip*
Cuz we aid big biz on the muthaf--kin' hip.
It's a Texas thang, ya'll!

GEORGE W. BUSH:
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay.
What, you think we live in a barn? Dubya be for real!
We got Benzes, Rovers and Jags, Hummers and Devilles.
Got a green S-Class, ain't broke the door seal.
S--t ain't been the same since I stole votes real.
This s--t got ill when I copped 4 mill.
Five and countin', takin' 6 at will.
Swiped 7 on the side, 8 statewide.
I'll be on my second term by the time I'm at 9.
I hear ya cryin', "We gonna find out!" Ya damn right!
They done found out before; I recouped the same night,
Straight hopped the next plight, too slimy for *mod right*,
*C-A without light* -- yeah, you heard me, lefty!
I'm from the Lone Star State: Show me seven, I'll show you eight
Derricks in West Wing, heavily drilled rings.
Representin' ol' Midland every time I breathe.
In the city, I gulp *Crown* and I bob and weave, ay.

(CHORUS)

DICK CHENEY:
I sport my *pacer* on my boots; that's why it be a buzz when I kick.
Maybe it's on my lips, it's chaos when I hit.
Quarter man, quarter smirk boy, half lunatic,
Quarter Repub, quarter Dick, other half in yo' s--t.
Made a quarter of that s--t -- I'm the real man of the White House.
One color and one race like the Right's House.
Old white farts with old-style ways
Cuz we enact three bills and get paid for three days.
You can tell by the way I talk, I ain't from 'round hurr [here].
Probably couldn't tell cuz I ain't gettin' nowhurr [nowhere].
I got an old-school ticker and a hole in my hurr [hair],
Chest pains urrwhurr [everywhere], arm pains to spurr [spare].
I don't curr [care] -- hell, naw, I ain't leavin' my churr [chair].
To the half in them mid-class homes, give us yo' shurr [share], uh.
I'm from the Tex and what I do with the Bush crew:
One party, four years -- we screw you.

(cowboy yell)

DICK ARMEY:
Nothin' but some ol' country boys that ride GOP courses.
Saddle up and put spurs on them Air Forces.
Pork breeders paid to hide and pass s--t.
We got space out hurr [here], we can ride and cheat.
Ain't gotta worry 'bout nobody approachin' us.
By the time they catchin' up, we signed it up.
And my eyes be wide, my lips a lil' smirk.
The Right is more than *Specter, McCain, and Kirk*.
My cronies love to screw and love to quibble.
Love "top 1%" laws with matchin' tax bills.
We racin' down Penn Ave, see how fast our car go.
Daschle be like "Ay-yi-yi", like Ricky Ricardo.
I know you wanna know why we do what we do.
Repubs ain't got a clue why our campaign blew.
Brand-new *double-As* for our new VP
With one, two, three, four EKGs.

(CHORUS)

TOM DELAY:
Check, check!
I'm sittin' on my front porch, writin' a tight rhyme,
Waitin' on my consult to deliver that Right line.
Wish I would find one Dem with my bill.
Blocks and s--t; if they do, somebody killed.
"Look right there -- eight tons of Chinamen!"
Came 'cross hittin' some Buds and Heineken.
Hidin' in the truck with the *po-pos*,
Knockin' up ho-hos -- man, they some dodos!
You put the gun to my ear. You know the Lord don't fear.
Prez Dubya, veep Dick -- let's keep that bulls--t clear.
You had me face down in the *skreet*.
Errbody [everybody] watchin', thinkin' I'm a rotten cheat.
You give these D-crats a front seat in the skreet
And state, "Crazy ass Dubya -- he f--ked us up, that creep.
Gonna give it to George Dubya like LAPD.
Beat the Right! F--k off!"
Now I'm back on my Texas porch hustlin'!

(CHORUS)

(chicken, horse, and cattle sounds continue throughout)

It's a Texas swang, ya'll!

It's a Texas (echo) thang!