Mitt will win and then we’ll Barry you

Oh Barry boy, the votes, the votes are calling
From dead to dead and down Chicago’s way
The summer’s gone and all the ballots dying
‘Tis you, ’tis you must go and Mitt must stay

But come ye hack when Plouffe cries in his pillow
Or when your campaign’s broke and out of blow
And I’ll be here when Al Gore’s in your shadow
Oh Barry boy, oh Barry boy I told you so

But if you come and all the voters dying
And if they’re dead, as dead they well may be
We’ll count the votes behind closed doors just for you
Lying and steal and hang a chad just for thee

And you shall feel, oh feel it’s still all Bush’s fault
And then my vote will richer, sweeter be
For you will lose ‘cuz losing’s all you ever do
For Mitt will win and then we’ll Barry you

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