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Lyr Add: Wrecking Ball Patrick Fitzgerald

DigiTrad:
BACK HOME IN DERRY
THE EDMUND FITZGERALD
THE NERVOUS WRECK OF THE EDNA FITZGERALD


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GUEST 01 Mar 06 - 11:37 AM
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Subject: Lyr Add: WRECKING BALL PATRICK FITZGERALD
From: GUEST
Date: 01 Mar 06 - 11:37 AM

From

http://p216.ezboard.com/frigorousintuitionfrm21.showMessage?topicID=20.topic

THE WRECKING BALL PATRICK FITZGERALD
------------------------------------------------------------------------
(parody of the Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, written by a CANADIAN! - yes I have nothing better to do on Fitzmas Eve)

The legend lives on from the chippies in town
Of the big Jake* they call Gotcha Gumee
Fitzgerald, it's said, never loses his head
When the skies of November turn gloomy.

With a load of indictments – 26,000 or more
That Patrick Fitzgerald weighed slowly
That good counselor was a bone to be chewed
When the gales of November came early

Patrick was the pride of the American side
Coming back from some mill in Chicago
As the big lawyers go he was bigger than most
With his crew and the Captain well seasoned.

Concluding some terms with some crooked old bums
He left fully sick of their squealing
And later that night when justice rang out,
Could it be the North Wind they'd been feeling.

The news on the wires made a tattletale sound
As the charges he was finally revealing
And every man knew, as Junior did, too,
T'was the witch of November come stealing.

The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
When the news of indictments came slashing
When afternoon came it was freezing rain
In the face of a hurricane West Wing

When supper time came the old crook came on deck
Saying fellows it's too rough to feed ya
At 7PM the government caved in
He said fellas it's been good to know ya.

Fitzgerald wired in he had more coming in
And the Preznit and crew was in peril
And later that night when he scooted out of sight
Came the wrecking ball Patrick Fitzgerald.

Does anyone know where old Turdblossom goes
When the law turns the minutes to hours
The papers all say he'll have Hell to pay
Unless he decides to roll over.

They might have split up or they might all go down
They may have broke deep and turned over
And all that remains is the faces and the names
Of the journalists, spies and their masters.

Lake Michigan rolls, and Wurmser sings
Of the lies from the executive mansion
Fitzgerald steams like a young man's dreams,
The pundits and aides are for sportsmen.

And farther below, old Mexico
Takes in what the US can send her
And indictments go as prosecutors all know
With the gales of November remembered.

In a musty old hall in DC they prayed
In the White House Cathedral
The church bell chimed, 'til it rang 29 times
For each charge from Patrick Fitzgerald.

The legend lives on from the Chippies in town
Of the big Jake they call Gotcha Gumee
Fitzgerald they say, never turns off the heat
When the gales of November come early.

*Jake is a Discordian term for "mindfuck."


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