Sung to the tune of the Beverly Hillbillies...

Come and listen to my story 'bout a boy name Bush.
His IQ was zero and his head was up his tush.
He drank like a fish while he drove all about.
But it didn't really matter 'cuz his daddy bailed him out. DUI, that
is. Criminal record. Cover-up.

Well, the first thing you know little Georgie goes to Yale. He can't
spell his name but they never let him fail. He spends all his time
hangin' out with student folk. And that's when he learns how to snort
a line of coke. Blow, that is. White gold. Nose candy.

The next thing you know there's a war in Vietnam.
Kin folks say, "George, stay at home with Mom."
Let the common people go to get maimed and scarred.
We'll buy you a spot in the Texas Air Guard.
Cushy, that is. Country clubs. Nose candy.

Twenty years later George gets a little bored.
He trades in the booze, says that Jesus is his Lord.
He says, "Now the White House is where I oughta be."
So he calls his daddy's friends and they call the GOP.
Gun owners, that is. Falwell. Jesse Helms.

Come November 7, the elections runnin' late.
Kin folks say, "Jeb, give the boy your state!"
"Don't let those colored folks get into the polls."
So they put up barricades so they couldn't punch their holes. Chads,
that is. Duval County. Miami-Dade.