Now, we have got the word “melon,”
Which can connote what is on top
Of the neck; holds matter gray,
Unless it is full of rocks.
True of all Congressional hacks
Who blow smoke, jerk off from the Hill.
And when they are not grandstandin’. . .
Other ways to make you ill

The voters don’t like ’em—
Rocks in casaba,
Rocks casaba.
Yet voters don’t spike ’em—
Rocks in casaba,
Rocks casaba.

They’re in it just for profit
In D.C., booty town.
Degenerates and wastrels,
They’re a Congress full of clowns.
By their henchmen they are bought off.
Who elected cranks and scum
Who’re into pocket-picking?
Who was it that picked these bums?
The blame—we all share it;
We put ’em there.
At the polls we fail.

The voters don’t like ’em—
Poxes ’n’ gasbags,
Pox ’n’ gasbags.
Yet voters don’t spike ’em—
Poxes ’n’ gasbags,
Pox ’n’ gasbags.

These oafs got, behind temples,
Rocks—that’s why they are so dim.
It is a crowd of fools
That can do well one thing—
That’s to prod with an inflection
Amounting to a swive
From something that’s stiff
As a rock; in it drives.

The voters then get ’em—
Cocks up the caca,
Trough, up far, far.
The voters’ rent rectums—
Cocks up the caca,
Notch, up far, far.

We think about doing pest fighting
To get ’em all out of the way,
But no matter what we’re gonna get
Casabas anyway.

Because, Lord Acton it was,
Made it crystal-clear:
Power corrupts you.
All in power, we need fear

For the ship of state, who is
Chosen to steer
Fails, we have to bail.

The voters don’t like ’em—
On the rocks, the ship,
On rocks, the ship.
Yet voters don’t spike ’em—
On the rocks, the ship,
On rocks, the ship.

Grifters in the Congress,
Every one is on the take, yeah
In it for his/her own sake, yeah.