You knew it had to happen…
Bravely bold Sir Roberts. Rode forth from the Supreme Court. He was not afraid to die, Oh brave Sir Roberts. He was not at all afraid to have mean things written about him in the New York Times. Brave, brave, brave, brave Sir Roberts. He was not in the least bit scared To be mashed into a pulp. Or to have his eyes rhetorically gouged out, And his preeecious Court be bad-mouthed. To have his legacy ripped by E.J. Dionne. And his Court’s “legitimacy” questioned. And his reputation as “an umpire” hacked and mangled, Brave Sir Roberts. His head smashed in And his heart cut out by The Washington Post Editorial Page. And his liver removed. And his bowls unplugged. And his nostrils raped. And his bottom burnt off . And his invitations to cocktail parties cut off…
“That’s… that’s enough music for now lads, there’s dirty work afoot–I have to come up with some bull shit rationalization why I switched my vote on the Obamacare fiasco!”
Brave Sir Roberts ran away. (“No!”) Bravely ran away away. (“I didn’t!”) When danger reared it’s ugly head, He bravely turned his tail and fled. (“No!”) Yes, brave Sir Roberts turned about (“I didn’t!”). And gallantly he chickened out. Bravely taking (“I never did!”) to his feet, He beat a very brave retreat. (“All lies!”) Bravest of the braaaave, Sir Roberts! (“I never!”) His “legacy” is shot to hell…but he doesn’t care because he thinkin’ “Oh Well! At least the liberals will love me now!” Brave Brave Sir Roberts, you worthless gutless cow! Just go die, you were worthless anyhow…Cowardly Sir Roberts you f#cked us all to hell!
