Obama's Politics of Despair: A Nation of Crack and Cable.

Sung to the tune, from "Mack and Mable", of "I Won't Send Roses", (a performance of which, by Michael Feinstein, can be seen at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6xXn-RKNrmk&feature=related)

I'll first strike poses
And you'll believe,
I'll conjure miracles
Pulled from my sleeves;
The lack of truth in what I say
To stave admission of decay
Will turn you grey kids,
Before your day, kids.

Forget my shoulder
When you're in need,
And fewer birthdays
Is guaranteed.
And when I fleece you, you will be
The last to know
I'll first strike poses,
And poses suit you so.

To some I'm tantric:
Totally Boss;
'Cross the Atlantic,
They call me dross.
I'd be the first one to agree
That I'm preoccupied with me
And it's inbred, kids,
Just ask the Fed, kids.

In me You've placed things,
Like trust and verve,
But rank betrayal's
All you deserve
And since there's now no fighting chance:
We're out of dough.
I'll first strike poses,
And poses suit you so.