Failure is what we’re sent
Dude we get, slippery gent
Blow drones, mo’ booze I’ll bet
He ain’t got no etiquette

He’s had years pushin’ fear an’ doom
Guy blows smoke in the hearing room
He’s a man from Queens with Joe means
King of the goads

Thirst for power, witch-find fame
Dreck oration, bashin’ game
Joe mold, shouting abuse
Bet he drains like Joe the juice
He knows blow-up cronies, they’re found
Upon his ancestral ground
He’s a man with green for isle green
Givin’ ’em loads

He dough’d many in Eire terror, errs but airs no shame
Killin’ civilians, dead children and maimed
Now rendering handjobs to reddening clowns
He has a point but appoint somebody who’s sound

Because
There sure are crazed agents
With U.S.-razing bents
The homeland sure could get
To check it a better bet
Not some stooge with power pushin’ doom
Buyin’ guns for IRA goons
He’s the man whose means are smokescreens
Hypocrite toad
King of the load