Cut, cut, cut….
up, up, up….

Mister Bone Saw, send out a team (cut, cut, cut, cut)
to slice Kashoggi up, then get the place clean (scrub, scrub, scrub, scrub).
Then get someone to give you cover (hush, hush, hush up).
This ain’t your first hit; there’ll be many others.

Honed saw goes through the bone (cut, cut, cut, cut)
like knife through butter—it’s so well toned (cut, cut, cut, cut).
Dispatch your assassins team,
Mister Bone Saw, keep your hands “clean.”

Scrub, scrub, scrub….

Mister Bone Saw, they’re such a scream:
the denials about sending the team.
To say the least, you are no lover
of freedom, and you have lots of cover.

Bone saw went through Kashogg’
on your orders; this wasn’t a “rogue”
op but rather, your top team…
used a bone saw and not a fleam.

Blood, blood, blood….

Mister Bone Saw, yes, you sent the team
to use a blade with sharpness and shiny gleam.
Obvious: He wasn’t your pal, Kashoggi.
Obvious too: Not an op that went “roguey.”

Mister Bone Saw, such lies you’ve told (they’re getting old);
we listen to them, and our eyes have rolled.
So, please turn off your BS stream.
Mister Bone Saw, quit it, please, please cease.
For your own law, Kash’ is deceased.