Simón Bolivar / At Sixty-Three It's Marginal, Right? by Doug Stoothoff

A little current happenings piece

Lyrics:

Now listen all you swinging dicks
What I say will probably
Not sound entirely fair
But paying for databricks
Is the data engineer version
Of sitting in the cuck chair

There once was a guy with the tism
Who was put off by offensive realism

And away down south at the Sigint station
They caught the threads
Of a high level conversation

The latest Simón Bolivar
was expressing extreme frustration

As a result of my signal failure
To quell a little dissension
I forgot to mention
I'm under attack by demons
With poor reading comprehension

The man up north, ventured forth
You seem to have something stuck in your craw
Now I don't want you to get uptight
Are you still a believer
In international law?
Cause at sixty-three
It's marginal right

He proceeded to confide discreetly
We don't cotton to
All this retorting
About the mass deporting
He then rejoindered sweetly
With the taste of a sugary confection
We are remigrating in the other direction

Somewhere in downtown Caracas
There ensued a pretty good size
Altercational fracas
And the good El Presidente
Got snatched from his mattress
And the fellas had plucked their prize

The admiral on the scene gave a snort
While reading the after action report

I don't mean to be condescending
But delusional self confidence
Is the best moral support you can have
And the best sleep the target got
After his apprehending
Was lying on a slab

While gobbling his cereal
And quenching his thirst, this crook
Locked eyes with Bolton
In the prison cafetorium
And after that mental moratorium
The latter flinched first
Averted his eyes to his book
And did a deep dive on the material

You seem to have something stuck in your craw
Now I don't want you to get uptight
Are you still a believer
In international law?
Cause at seventy-seven
It's marginal right
Baby yeah at seventy-seven
It's marginal right