Bush Life After The Books Are Closed

Then after George's turd roasting,
For a dozen eighty years
Of Haley's comet comings,
Bush will be whooshed
From beneath a cockroach hoof,
To ride astride the icy comet,
All the way to Heaven's door,
The House of Our Creator
Where Saddam, the Big Salami
Guarding Heaven's Grate,
Will resolutely blast
George "Little Bush's" fate.
Hark! Eternal floor of Heaven
Caves again, King George's soul
Shackled to a rain drop
Plopped on fresh regurgitated vomit,
Heralding hurricane Katrina
With mama Bar-Donna Bush-Corleone,
Awakened thus, in a backed up toilet
Herr Elder George of Wimp;
Canned in the same slop dump
Their little Dub
Split to flop in fresh dog drop.
Our souls are a memory;
George's, only what George chooses.
We will not forget the innocent
Called to Allah's bosom,
Or forget Bush, forever unforgiven.

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