Red-state views are narrow; there they bark apace;
Barry has no zing, sure is too bland.
Rednecks’ take on Barry: “We don’t like your race,”
and Barry blames them for dealing him a “bad hand.”

Old Party-Obama strife goes on, blah-
blah-blah how that strife goes on.
Old Party-Obama strife goes on, blah-
blah-blah how that strife goes on.

Barry wants to hand over keys to the store—
ply with plenty cash and gold an’ bling (gold an’ bling).
Taking swag, both coteries of craven whores,
and with your fins they all are having a big fling.

Old Party-Obama strife goes on, blah-
blah-blah how that strife goes on.
Old Party-Obama strife goes on, blah-
blah-blah how the gripes go on.

After six real long years they have built mutual loathe.
There’s a couple left still that they can fight hard—
it’s hard to like one, less both.
Blah-blah. . . .

Crappy ever after is their barf-me place,
located on soggy, boggy land.
It’s too bad we can’t all go back and erase
our ballots because by all parties we’ve been scammed.

Old Party-Obama strife goes on, blah-
blah-blah how the gripes go on.
Old Party-Obama strife goes on, blah-
blah-blah—how dislike goes on.

After six real long years they have built mutual loathe.
There’s a couple left still that they can fight hard.
Of Barry, Party: f**k both!
Blah-blah. . . .

Crappy ever after is their barf-me place. . .
all of them in their fantasy land.
Back on our Earth home we wish we could replace
’em all with ones who actually gave a damn.

Old Party-Obama strife goes on, blah-
blah-blah—how they fight and scoff.
Old Party-Obama strife goes on, blah-
blah-blah—can’t turn the mic off!

You’ll get a buggered bum from O’ Party-’bama.