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Last Updated: 04/05/2005 13:02:16
I © Hitler
By Lee Cassanell
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Not a good Man or Saint
But the Bastard could Paint
And his Moustache was pruned to perfection
He had funny ideas
About Jew boys and Queers
But his one ball maintained an erection
He came over all Ill
When he saw his Gas Bill
Was a few deutschmarks more than his booty
When he ran out of buttons
It was him or the Russians
And I'm damn sure who I'd pick to shoot me.
Not a Prophet or Pope
Were the Germans on dope
When he dragged them to war by their ankles?
Now a Nazi salute
Doesn't seem quite as cute
From a skin headed Aryan vandal,
But in days of despair
Who would stand up and swear
On a man who tells tales of redemption?
If your wine glass was dry
Would you lie down and die
Or follow fascist flags without question?
Not an angel or Priest
So he slept with his Niece
And he cross bred a Horse with a with gypsy
Can we rub out his sins?
We've all done stupid things
After ten pints of beer and a whisky,
Yes he wasn't all quid
Everything that he did
Was immoral!
Outrageous!
And ghastly...
It just wouldn't seem right
Singing Here comes the Reich
And not Bob
Janice
Rod
Or Rick Astley...
So I guess that I'm wrong
And the name of this song
Should be
Hitler: Dictator or Dickhead...
But that wouldn't be fun
So I'm loving the Hun
Just because it feels good being wicked
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Copyright ©2005 Lee Cassanell
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Poetry - Dylan. By Lee Cassanell
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I'd say that I'm a gambler
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It was all fun and FHM,
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They say that cleaning's the new rock 'n' roll,
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Do dusters and Marigolds give you a hard on?
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They are going to drill for more oil
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With Politicians in the same business.
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I think that you might hate me, I'm so tired I don't care.
Your opinion formed from nothing, when I wasn't there.
You thought that you loved me once, now I'm ugly and thick.
The fact I never dated you never altered it?
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One billion Catholics round the Earth
Are in mourning for Pope John
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For thirty-five hundred years
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Almost one hundred forty feet
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Fifty thousand board feet
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The Government thinks it knows best
Wants to tell us how to live our life
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It's the second Anniversary
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Didn't have a pot to piss in and
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The Patron Saint of Ireland
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What now for the boozers
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Betrayed by the white man,
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If love is satins sheets,
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If hate is a loaded gun,
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If oppression is a wall,
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You're sat at a bar and
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sits across from you and tries
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Slowly
it begins to dawn on you-
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| What's Happening? |
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| Chill Out |
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