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Heaven, It was heaven – I was master of Rove's start-a-war mystique Until they tried to end my lucky streak And began to check out my Wall Street technique. Heaven, No more heaven – I'm so insulted I can hardly speak. Why did Harry stab me in the back this week And shut my Senate down to take a peek At how the war got started When lies were at their peak, And, now that Scooter's off to jail, How Cheney's up the creek? Oh! I love to watch the TV And offer my critique, But that doesn't please them half as much As threats to our mystique. Stall with me, We'll caterwaul about you, Blackballing you, too, So only our few Go to heaven, Bushie's heaven, Where lies abound and Cheney dares to speak, And we never have to suffer like this week, Or try to hide Rove's start-a-war mystique.
Music & Original Lyric by Irving Berlin |