Pretzel, Pretzel…

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15 January 2002

pretzel, pretzel, in my throat,
who’s the leader who can gloat?
who can watch a football game
when all around the world’s aflame?
hey, that rhymed, I’m pretty clever
I bet that I could do another
I’m glad the gov of fla’s my brother
and that our nation is strong.
but wait, what’s that? a little tickle
down where beer and pretzels trickle
down where words can fail to form
a crumb, and means to do me harm!
a tiny speck, no bigger than
a hanging chad — not those again!
now I cannot breathe no more
my head is heading for the floor
down with the dogs whose eyes implore
and I thought I heard one quoth: “nevermore”.
I thank the Lord for what I’ve won
elections, wars, I had me some
and pray the Lord my soul to keep
at St. Peter’s ranch, some cows and sheep
and tons of shares of oil stock
and football games at three o’clock …
hark! who’s there? it’s just them hounds
wagging as I come around
Hello rover, hello spot
hello fishing, hello yacht
hello football, hello bombs
hello meetings, hello mom
we’ll never falter, never fail —
excepting when our pretzel’s stale —
and when it’s over, when we’ve won
I’ll fear the pretzel, not the gun.

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