Chicken John Yes now we know how low they'll go, These Johns who want to lead us. Desiring to pander, they slickly slander While contrived compassion they feed us. She is "Fair Game" that Cheney dame; Yes, that's Miz Cahill's call. So why we feel shock at their sordid schlock, Aren't they lawyers after all? It's no surprise that these two guys Are true artists at their easels; Using words as they paint they trickily taint, Paired Picassos of sleaze, these weasels. So no one's now a sacred cow, Since the Liberals tossed the rules. There is no blame they're all fair game Go after the family jewels. Get under their beds, inside their heads, There's no limit to taking pelts. Thus we've no shame in our dubious claim John loves chickens in garter belts. For that you see solves the mystery To the question that so begs: How Carvillain Kerry, who outted Mary, Learned to lay such perfect eggs.