One might assume the sight of eight bomber aircraft screaming over Miami Beach or an impending explosion in California would suffice for a weekend's drama, yet the Yanks insist on adding a gunman at the White House to the billing for good measure. Meanwhile, the Giants' locker room has apparently survived the cataclysmic fallout of a political disagreement, proving that American footballers can indeed tolerate one another provided the cameras are rolling. It is a refreshing change of pace from the Trump administration's other weekend hobbies, which seem to involve dismantling legal immigration and erasing history with the quiet efficiency of a librarian gone rogue. At least Tiger Woods is providing the emotional ballast for Vanessa Trump, because frankly, the rest of the news reads like a distress signal from a sinking ship.
🎵 (s)Hit of the Day 🎵
Version 1
Version 2
📜 Lyrics 📜
[Verse 1]
There's a gunman at the garden gate
The White House lockin' down its grate
The Secret Service drawn and waitin'
For motives they can't quite translate
But down in Miami the sunbathe and stare
At an Arsenal of Freedom polluting the air
B-fifty-twos and F-thirty-fives
Reminding the tourists that civilisation dies
With a sonic boom and a flag on a stick
Don't it make you feel clever, don't it make you feel sick?
[Chorus]
So raise up your glasses to the end of the show
There's a chemical tank gettin' ready to blow
And the lock on the door is the lock on your mind
Leave your history burnin' and your conscience behind
Hey-la, hey-la, the clock's runnin' late
Last orders at the bar for the United States!
[Verse 2]
Britain's sendin' robots to the Strait of Hormuz
To hunt for the mines in a war they can't lose
Or maybe they will, it's a toss-up at best
While commanders in Whitehall put courage to test
Back in the States, they're erasing the files
On the sixth of January, the official denial
If you can't win the story, just rewrite the page
And whistle a tune for the end of an age
[Bridge - with fiddle and whistle reel]
A football coach drivin' a pace car round
A rookie dispute on the holy ground
Of locker room politics, sorted with grace
Just a cuddle in public, a smile on the face
And Vanessa says Tiger is holdin' her hand
Through the cancer that spreads across this troubled land
It's the human touch in a barrel of snakes
But the tank's over-heatin' and the radiator breaks!
[Guitar Solo]
[Chorus]
So raise up your glasses to the end of the show
There's a chemical tank gettin' ready to blow
And the lock on the door is the lock on your mind
Leave your history burnin' and your conscience behind
Hey-la, hey-la, the clock's runnin' late
Last orders at the bar for the United States!
[Outro - gang vocals building]
Hey-la, hey-la!
Last orders, please!
Hey-la, hey-la!
We're down on our knees!
Time, gentlemen, please!
Time!
[Fade with tin whistle]