Stuck-up suckup rich girl, and my shtik is getting old.
I maunder, I’m a bitch ’n’
My mouth socket pours out mumbles and false promises—
Mere lies and jests, and I grab jeers;
I’m not handed cheers; dicks hard I detumesce.
Mumble, mumble. . . .

I’m in a Cosa Nostra family, a chick among many boys.
It’s a Congress of deranged turds
Who aren’t quiet; they’re insanely brayin’, runnin’ blares,
Paid-off ho’s, seeking out the richer quarters
Where the bagmen and thieves go—
Getting hooked up on down on K Street, where there’s dough.

Lie, lie, lie. . . .

Snatching more than working wages,
We are crooks on a con job, and we get big offers,
Each a Congressional whore in this smelly venue.
We don’t declare; got dimes in Swiss banks and the Caymans;
We’re sure to glom our share.

Now my peers are trolls, the slimiest creatures in D.C.
Many dolts here; it’s a dunce club,
Some scummier than me, fat cats they’re crusin’ for.
For dollars they range; they aren’t grain-fed. . .many brain-dead,
Some look like a mutt with mange.
They are strange, deranged, and range. . .no change arranged.

Blah, blah, blah. . . .

When I’m braying, shouts of “Zip your hole,
Skip it and begone! Go back home!”
Come from don’t-work state citizens—it’s peevin’ me,
Grieving me, their roast tone.

They’re all ear hurts like B. Boxer; we’re blighted by their tirades,
As they yammer something mindless like drugged-up slugs as air they blow
And bluster till we cry out: “Too much blather, please refrain
And be leaving, we'll be heaving
If you don't right now abstain.”

Blah, blah, blah
Lie, lie, lie