O little brain of Dubya
How sneakily can he lie
His thoughts aren't deep
And he's a creep
The son of a former spy

He's not the right wing's finest
At best, he's called "Bush Lite"
This dope, we fear
Is almost near to being Prez, "by Right"

For Dubya and Cheney
Have blathered to all, "We won."
They're boring; sayin' the same old things
"Stop counting," before they're done

They're Oil Stars together
They claim they own the earth
We'll taunt and sing:
"Bush ain't the King,
Entitled (NOT) by birth."