Poor Abu's dead, Zarqawi is dead.
They've gathered 'round his carcass, said goodbye.
He had a heart so cold that no mercy could it hold;
So why did such a killer have to die?

Poor Abu's dead, Musab-al is dead.
He's lookin' oh so peaceful and serene (and serene).
At last he's come to rest; gave his all, and did his best
To thwart those infidels who'd intervene.

Then the mullah got up at the funeral and he said, "Fidels, we are gathered here to moan and groan over our brother Abu, who got himself killed by a bomb in his safehouse."

Then there was shoutin' and shootin'... from some of those Sunnis.

Then he said, "He was the most misunderstood man in this seared Triangle. People used to say he was a menacing killer, and they called him a blood-thirsty skunk and an ornery kidnapper. But the folks that really knew him, knew that beneath those two dirty sheets he always wore, there beat a heart as dark as Sheol's door (as dark as Sheol's door). Abu loved his killer clan (he loved his killer clan). He loved mortars in the air and hid bombs in the field. He longed for ricin to terminate the foreigners. And he'd treat autocrats like equals, which was right. He loved to teach children, to loath everybody and everything in the Harb world. Democracy he never bet on, hoped nobody ever voted."

Poor Abu's dead, no more our fear and dread.
He's layin' in the rubble where he stood (stood).
The Press is feelin' mad, askin' was he treated bad;
But now we know this fiend is gone for good (good).

Poor Abu's dead, al-Qaeda's lost one head.
He's lookin' not so sturdy, won't live twice.
Insurgents now must weep, for it's as they sow they'll reap.
From one more neck he'll never take a slice.

Poor Abu's dead; who'll now lead in his stead?
He thought he could stay lost, but he was found (he was found).
This crazy's bade farewell; we can doubt that he's in Hell,
But rest assured he'll never come around.

Poor Zar....qa....wi