Old McCain’s “Animal Farm”
Welcome to John’s Animal Farm!
Come on in, it won’t take long.
Let’s ride a bus across the plains,
A porous infection inside the brain.
Through a great invention called e-mail,
Take a second and read my tale.
Old Major was a great, cool cat,
Admired, popular, possessed with great tact.
Deceased for some time,
The animals had a choice:
Face the future or channel the past
Voices echoing of ideologies whacked.
Napoleon, an ambitious cuss,
Hopped aboard his straight talk bus.
A hero, a soldier liked by all,
Victory in fall should be easy,
Especially if he acts just a little bit sleazy.
The target set for the fourth of November,
Napoleon had an opponent to dismember.
Snowball was a popular figure.
Animals believed in him – he’ll deliver
Change that’s needed – an end to the rigor
Of partisan grumbling, fat cat money-grubbing.
Napoleon knew this faith must be expelled.
“Yes, we can!” must go away.
Snowball’s not like us, an other, a lout.
Drive him out, he’s dangerous,
Untested, even vile.
Hope must descend into forced exile.
I can’t do this myself, Napoleon thought to himself.
Other pigs must speak for me
So I can smile, shake hands, pretend to be clean.
My surrogates will lie, become the queen of mean.
I’ll look into their eyes like a kindly old mother,
Make’em believe some animals are not equal to others.
Snowball won’t see it coming,
He’s too busy smiling.
When he’s running to the hills,
I’ll be wining and dining
The CEO swine paying my bills.
I’ll get another one to support me
A Squealer – a mainstream appealer
She’ll wink, dance, maybe do a jig,
I think I’ll put lipstick on that pig.
Nobody will realize she’s a dope,
If I put her in a pimpin’ wardrobe.
She’ll spew venom to the folks,
Terrorist jokes and turn on the fathers
Even though her brain is just fodder.
If the animals don’t believe in me yet,
I’ll use them against themselves.
I am – but don’t fret.
I don’t know what I’m doing
But I’ll win – just see.
They’ll become so angry, feel so afraid
They’ll scream in unison:
Animals will sing my fake song of hope:
With a little lie here, a little lie there.
Here a hate, there a lie,
Everywhere hate and lies!
But something happened on the road to the palace.
Napoleon, erratic and unbalanced,
Drove his bus off the road, hands off the wheel.
He looked for a bailout, another chance, an appeal.
Trying in vain to get out of the ditch,
Waving his desperate hands,
Napoleon realized he didn’t know his own land.
Friends and enemies watched as he reached out from the drift
Napoleon, dazed and confused,
Couldn’t decide which was which.