Dick Cheney Awaits The Grim Reaper In His Hospital Bed

A woman named Julia Butterfly Hill

tried to save a sequoia I wanted to kill.

Goddamned tree-huggers are always cramping my style;

I’m such a good person, so why can’t I smile?

So I took out my chain saw with a thirst for revenge,

tossed it into the Hummer, said, “Goodbye, garage.”

I drove from Wyoming to Olympic rain forest,

spewing carbon emissions o’er the land of the free

to bring down great Luna, the thousand-year tree

where Julia lived for two years–and for free!

But I had a mishap when I slipped and I fell

and I lopped off my leg as the saw dropped from hell.

Young Miss Hill was on hand to give me a lift

to the clinic where nurses were ending their shift.

As I lie here in bed wondering where I went wrong,

if you strike up the band, I will sing you a song

of a man who gave all for the country he loved

and developed the world with bombs dropped from above

Yet it’s clear to this hero God’s not on his game;

if He wants my devotion, his approach is real lame.

After gaining new life from a second-hand heart,

I must perish alone here, an abandoned old fart.

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