Death to the murdering dead.

On the day we killed
bin Laden,
I stubbed my little toe,
a bank was robbed in India,
and a pimp beat down his ho.

Now despite not having photos
to prove my tumid toes,
or evidence that swollen banks
should not be looted,
I'm taught that pimps will beat their ho's
and superheroes defeat their foes,
and democracy's soldiers will be recruited.

On the day we killed Osama,
Obama got a rash,
for he had to hash some soaring speech
from trumpery and trash.

There was to be no body
as proof the devil was cut down,
but Allahdamn if the Potus
didn't make me proud,
so manly was his frown.

Now we'll exult in his ocean of blood,
and roll like jackals in his phantom corpse,
the tide has turned for the forces of Good,
and de free world now got Herpes,
I mean Hopes.