1.
EVERYTHING GLOWS
(Porter's "Anything Goes")
War has changed,
Since contemptible
Thane Macbeth
Killed the King, and
then paused for breath—
Now, we're dealing
in megadeath.
Now, to keep
Any trees in the Birnam
Wood
From arriving at Dunsinane,
We Wood Birnam where
they stood.
When Washington
informs the Russians,
"Let's table the SALT
discussions
And fall to blows!",
Everything glows.
When Indians and Pakistanis
Are fixin' to kick
some fannies
And step on toes,
Everything glows.
The world's a big
thorium
Crematorium;
There's plutonium
Pandemonium;
And no cranium
Can stop uranium,
If it's gonna decompose.
Hiroshima and Nagasaki
Have taught us, when
men in khaki
Attack their foes,
Everything glows.
[Return to Bridge
for:]
They claim it's all "verified,"
But I'm terrified;
And no mystery,
'Cause we're history
If one sinister
Premier or minister
Ever gets it up his nose.
If just one meatball feels his Wheaties,
You know you can stick your treaties
Where nothing grows—
Everything glows.
2.
JIHAD JACK
(Whiting's "Hooray for Hollywood")
Hooray for Holy War!
A zany,
Pro-Khomeini
Holy War!
Because the blessed Ayatollah curses
Satanic Verses,
I'm all psyched up for a fight!
When Salman Rushdie's
Completely crushed, he's
Gonna rue the day he was taught to write!
Hooray for Holy War!
I'll be as rich as a conquistador:
The guy who scrags him gets a million smackers.
I may be crackers,
But that seems worth fighting for!
For megabucks like that,
I'd murder Arafat!
Hooray for Holy War!
3.
AS ONE BROKER TOLD
ME, AFTER THE MARKET DROPPED 67 POINTS . . .
(Warren's "Nagasaki")
Dow Jones is a trifle blue;
There's only one thing to do:
Let the men in khaki
Bomb Iraq like Nagasaki—
It'll make the rogue Iraqi
Rue.
By raising the price of oil,
He's causing our blood to boil;
Let the men in khaki
Bomb Iraq like Nagasaki—
It'll make the rogue Iraqi
Rue.
He sends his rowdies
To spook the Saudis
And put Kuwaitis on ice;
He rattles sabres
At all the neighbors—
Saddam shakes
Oil sheiks
Down, for a price!
He's causing a market flux;
We're losing a buncha bux;
Let the men in khaki
Bomb Iraq like Nagasaki—
It'll make the rogue Iraqi
Rue.
Drop your diplomats
And your naval blockade,
'Cause they all add up
To a rodomontade;
When the chips are down, they're doubtful jokes—
"Tora! Tora! Tora!" is the watchword, folks.
His courting the hostage vote
Gets even Ghadaffi's goat;
Let the men in khaki
Bomb Iraq like Nagasaki—
It'll make the rogue Iraqi
Rue.
The way he perverts the truth
Out-Hitlers the Hitler Youth;
Let the men in khaki
Bomb Iraq like Nagasaki—
It'll make the rogue Iraqi
Rue.
(But don't be blinded
By our high-minded
Asseverations of ire—
We're merely Babbits
With petro-habits;
We must have
Oil to
Feed our desire!)
That Saddam Hussein's a nut—
We'll go in and kick some butt.
Let the men in khaki
Bomb Iraq like Nagasaki—
It'll make the rogue Iraqi
Rue.
4.
HYMN OF GRATITUDE
("The British Grenadier")
Some hymn Amelia Earhart,
And Lindbergh's fame is strong;
Some praise the croix de guerre heart
Who fights par avion;
But in Aviation's annals,
There's none that makes us sing,
With a tow, row, row, row, row, row,
Like a British bomber wing.
From adamant Gibraltar
They climbed into the blue;
They did not shirk or falter;
Their aim was swift and true.
The forces of der Führer
Can still recall the sting,
With a tow, row, row, row, row, row,
Of the British bomber wing.
Then let us sing the praises
Of them we call The Few,
Who bombed the Hun to blazes
At D-Day's rendezvous;
For no one served so truly
His Majesty, the King,
With a tow, row, row, row, row, row,
As the British bomber wing.
5.
TAKE
YOUR PICK
(Young, Little and Siras's "In a Shanty in Old Shanty Town")
Version I
(to be sung with
the angst of one singing a Vietnam song)
It's only a shindy in Afghanistan:
Who's Pashtu, who's Hindi, and what's "Taliban"?
And, before we eat crow, it behooves us to know—
Is the Northern
Alliance
a friend or a foe?
The search for Osama is somewhat in doubt.
The heck with Osama—let's search for an out.
How the Mounties will jeer, if we don't get our man
With a shindy in Afghanistan.
Version II
(to be sung with
the cockiness of one singing a World War I song; perhaps to be sung to the standard "jazz" arrangement of "Shanty")
It's only a shindy in Afghanistan:
Al Qaeda is windy, it quakes like a flan.
(While That Man in Iraq is by no means laid back,
For he knows, once it's over, he's under attack.)
They'll fight for Osama; they won't give an inch.
They're fond of Osama, except in a pinch—
And a pinch we can give them, if anyone can,
In a shindy in Afghanistan.
6.
DISAPPEARING ACT
(Work's "Kingdom Coming")
Say, Afghans, have you seen Osama
With the fungus on his face?
He pulled up stakes and packed his skivvies,
And he left without a trace.
We've scoured the hills of Tora Bora
And we've combed through Kandahar;
We figure that he must be hiding
In Madrid or Zanzibar.
Osama's run away?
I don't know what to say;
It's just Al Qaeda's sweet comeuppance
And the Jihad's Judgment Day.
For more recent Bellicose Ballads, see ARCHIVE – February 1, 2005-July 31, 2005.
