The Assassinated Press

Mubarak's (Swan) Song
[to be sung to the tune of 'Send in the Clowns']

The Assassinated Press

Youíre so damn rich. Youíve got quite a pair.
With two million people here protesting in Tahrir Square
But you donít care. You send in the goons.

Again you draw blood, and you utterly approve
Your thugs keep tearing around so you wonít have to move.
You are the clown. Send in your goons.

You have no clothes. Your ass in the air.
Realize Egyptians no longer want you there.
Send in your goons.
Leave an ancient country a new set of ruins.
Making your exit with your usual murderous flair.
Send in your goons.

Iím sure of my lines.
Some take your money
But nobody cares.

Don't you love a farce? Your fault, I fear
You donít want what the people want, so sorry my dear
But where are your goons? Send in the thugs.
Don't bother they're here.

Isn't it rich? Isn't it queer?
Losing your timing this late in your career.
But where are your goons? Send in your goons.
They wonít save your stinking rear.