Oh Donny boy, the snipes, the snipes are bawling,

From spin to spin, some generals now decide,

The war's all wrong and for your head they're calling,

'Tis you, 'tis you must go, they want your hide.

But guard your back from those now in the meadow,

From starry pundits claim they told you so.

To hype their books, they snipe you from the shadow,

Oh Donny boy, oh Donny boy, they hate you so.

And if you run when all the media's lying,

Then truth is dead as dead the truth may be.

They'll howl and hound you 'til you are a' dying, 

And spiel an evil epitaph for thee.   

And they will sneer no matter what befalls thee,

At all your dreams of sweetest victory,

For if you win they'll still not ever love thee,

You'll see no peace until Bush cuts you free.

Oh Donny boy, the snipes, the snipes are bawling,

From spin to spin, they're crying for your hide.

Your war is lost is what the media's calling,

'Tis you must go, they want ol' Rummy fried.

(With a tip a' me hat to the gent who penned the original)

Russ Vaughn   4 16 06