There once was a junkie named Rush
Who had trouble exploring the bush
So he smuggled some pills
That would jack up his thrills
And wound up with a glove up his tush
Privacy, it seems, only applies
To those who are hired as spies
For the average bloke
Secrecy’s naught but a joke
So says the president who lies
This morning as I performed my ablution
I sought for myself some solution
To our troubles and strife
In this knocked around life
And I thought, maybe, ‘tis revolution
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