A long, long time ago
on your Convention Day
you made a promise then.
Loved what you say.

Those lips I read, old George
red, white and blue.
"Taxes ain't sweet, my friends.
I won't raise them on you."

You saw those deficits
that Ronnie left for you.
Something had to be done
and soon, you knew.

Those lips I read, old George
red, white and blue.
"Taxes ain't sweet, my friends.
I won't raise them on you."

Jobs going down the tubes.
Go do what you hate most.
So "READ MY LIPS, I LIED"
said the New York Post.

Those lips I read, old George
making us blue.
Taxes ain't sweet, old George
but look, our jobs are through.

Go blame the Congress, now.
You probably blame them still.
Just one more promise broke.
You lost to Bill.

Those lips I read, old George
making us blue.
Taxes ain't sweet, old George
and look, your job is through.

Is that your little boy.
He thinks a lot like you.
And on Election Day
we'll tell him too:

Those lips I read, young George
making us blue.
Tax cuts ain't sweet, young George
and look, your job is through.