A libretto by Tim Abbott
(With apologies to Gilbert and Sullivan and to my left-of-center friends.
If we can’t laugh at ourselves, someone else will do it for us.)
When the POTUS Ad Libs
Are confronted with statements spontaneous
When the POTUS ad libs, far more deadly than fibs,
All unscripted, and extemporaneous.
Whether God and our guns, or the habits of nuns,
Obama will share his opinion.
And their one greatest fear, is no summit of beer
Will prevent new headlines in The Onion!
For no summit of beer,
In the White House beer garden,
Can prevent what we hear,
when he’s begging our pardon,
While he’s making headlines in The Onion!
Yes the spin doctors cringe, every time he begins
To elocute off of his tether,
He’s so clean and nice looking, but when he gets cooking
The band starts to play “Stormy Weather”.
While the Democrats yearned for a leader well-learned,
With a way with words (unlike the last bore),
They now ruefully muse, as they’re hitting the booze:
In Obama, they got what they asked for!
For the President’s muse,
Has them hitting the booze
When he’s sounding like Biden;
With Obama, they got what they asked for!
Though he levels all ranks, when he stops to give thanks,
To saluting marines with a handshake,
And he gifts with cds, potentates and mps,
(Who regard them as if they were mandrake),
The world heeds his words, be they Belgians or Kurds,
And proclaims him refreshing and witty;
For ‘tis words and not deeds, that a president needs
When impressing the Nobel Committee!
Yes the thought, not the deed,
One should never forget,
Is what counts in the end,
For a Prize Laureate,
In the eyes of the Nobel Committee!