Debate, debate, they call this f*cked sham a debate?
The thing was scripted so Bush wouldn't have to cerebrate.
He'd prate and give a wave to kooks of whom he's slave.
His fuzzy fears and bullshit sound like he lives in a cave.
He's dumber than his pop, pop, pop, who had the guts to fly.
He's deranged, way over the top—and up and up it's piled.
He has no clue; he's just a preppy douche-
Bag—a petulant child. . .
Bozo, third rate, third rate, third rate.