As I talk along, I blunder, it comes out wrong.
I'm a dunce, a putz who sounds like Kong.
And as I still talk on, I can't untangle my tongue.
I blather, my parts of speech unsprung.

I'm a-squawkin' in my reign;
I'm a squallin', causin' aural pain.
Wishin' you couldn't hear me,
You endure misery,
And I blunder, I blah-blah-blah-blah-blunder,
Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie--mendacious bray.
And I plunder wherewithal away.
I can't run in '08.
But maybe a worse fate awaits:
That dipsh*t Frist waits at the gate.

[Intercessional interlude, then repeat second verse]