I sing a song of the ranks of libs,
angry and jealous and blue,
who cheated and covered and stole and lied
for the party they loved and knew.
And one was a rapist, and one was a drama queen,
and one was a congresswoman full of mean;
they were all of them slaves of greed obscene,
and I promise to not be one too.

They loved their power so dear, so dear,
and this love made them wrong;
and they followed the left for party's sake
the whole of their wicked lives long.
And one was a queer, and one was a beast,
and one was sodomized by a fierce wild priest;
and there's not any reason, no, not in the least,
why I should be one too.

They lived not only in ages past;
there are hundreds of thousands still.
The world is filled with their ranks of pervs
who love to do Hillary's will.
You can meet them in Congress, on the hill, with a whore,
in a bar, on the take, with the man's wife next door;
they are all devious preds, praying on the poor,
and I refuse to be one too.