Don’t want these dunces and putzes anymore,
Don’t want these dimwits and nitwits, that’s for sure.
The lying slime
In Norcal town,*
Creeps and drunks, lunkheads, and skunks,
They’re Calif.’s clowns.

They got a scam; all
In special-interest thrall.
They open mouths and tell lies,
They got their finger in the pies,
And got a lotta gall.

Don’t want these dunces and these schmucks anymore,
Don’t want these witless, grifting twits, that’s for sure.
They lie each time
Mouths make a sound.
In the sump from which come dumps
Their tongues are found.

When you see a reddened rear
On a fat cat with a leer,
It’s a cinch the cat’s just had
A rim job and feels glad
Enough big bucks to share.

Don’t want these dunces and putzes anymore.
They know exactly what to kiss, that’s for sure. . .
Big heinies rimed
Where their tongues found.
Feast on plump and lumpy rumps,
These Calif. clowns,
These callous clowns,
These canker clowns,
These crap-filled clowns



*Sacramento