She's a dutiful moron, yeah,
Gonna bring her inside a while. . .
Learn to smile.
And fix up that freakish hair, girl!
Gotta prep so she'll hit her stride,
Memorize the lines, she might do fine.
Don't chance it and make up
Anything, just do what they say;
Please don't bray.
Be a dutiful moron, yeah.
Speak only what you've learned like a dog,
Pavlov's,
From the script don't every stray now.

You're a dunce, but you can get it down;
We'll cover all the ground;
We'll make you a good hound.
In that vacant noodle no light shines;
It ain't filled inside,
Space is wide there inside, brain is fried.
Oh god! Naught inside. Oh my god!

[glossolalia]

She's like a child with a hairdo that towers,
And she is devoid of cerebral powers.
As I watch her robotic, I am seeing
That she's got no brain. Is McCain quite insane?
She's inane, a lamebrain, a lamebane. . .shoot-game fame, a lame shame

[robotic script-speech, peppered with "doggone it," "you betcha," "ya," and other pseudo-folksy claptrap]