In old Bill Clinton's golden days, we never knew what war meant.
We bombed Iraqis and the Serbs (whilst I gained my preferment!).
I told my students, to their shock, that presidents' decisions
Must sometimes come as painfully as surgeons' incisions.
Ch. And this is the stance I shall retain
Until my dying day comes,
For TENURE means that I'll remain
When each year's lovely May comes.
In old George Bush's iron days, we heard of WMD's,
And so we searched them high and low through many dark and dim days.
I told my students that we must believe in what we heard in
Each Presidential press release. But Nothing was our guerdon. Rpt. Ch.
The Nobel Prize has landed now on President Obama,
Who tells us that our wars are just, as in Shakespearean drama.
I tell the kids St Crispin's Day will stir us (Kenneth Branagh!)
But wonder still if Justice will drop one last trump on Honour. Rpt. Ch.
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