I've been shoveling manure
From the swamp into the sewer
Underneath the streets of Brooklyn
I met Obama in the mud
He's a fake on every level
He's as phony as the Devil
He imitates a human being
But he's really Elmer Fudd
Will I sculpt like Auguste Rodin?
Leave a legacy of bronze?
Or will I go down in a crapout
Kicked and shunned and spat upon?
Wading hip-deep in miasma
Has been riling up my asthma
All this trouble just to get away
But you can't escape yourself
I've got news for all you babies
Every future's full of maybes!
Maybe you'll become a sausage
Or a very special elf
You might write like Mary Shelley
Give the world your Frankenstein
Or you might pat your growing belly
And indulge in mental slime
Visit God on any day
He's always there and he'll stay that way
The greatest poets are trees
They know all about the birds and the bees
There's no call for heroism
Every sunbeam has a prism
If your son turns out a mongrel
Get him to someone who doesn't feel they need to help
It's a fever in the morning
And a werewolf song at night
Came the wind and brought no warning
Blew my Eden like a kite.