Was tipped off to this on the Michael Medved show yesterday. The latest in a line of Bush protest songs, this time from pop artist Pink (featuring the Indigo Girls). I'll post the lyrics in italics, my response in regular text:

Dear Mr. President
Come take a walk with me
Let's pretend we're just two people and
You're not better than me
I'd like to ask you some questions if we can speak honestly

What do you feel when you see all the homeless on the street
Who do you pray for at night before you go to sleep
What do you feel when you look in the mirror
Are you proud

How do you sleep while the rest of us cry (While the rest of us cry? Sorry, no crying here, or among any of my closest friends. Try again)
How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye
How do you walk with your head held high
Can you even look me in the eye
And tell me why (why WHAT? There's some info missing here, hon)

Dear Mr. President
Were you a lonely boy
Are you a lonely boy
Are you a lonely boy (This is relevant to ANYTHING HOW?)

How can you say
No child is left behind (OK, here's the meat: No Child Left Behind, while a pathetically stupid piece of legislation, ACKNOWLEDGED that children ARE being left behind, and was written with the intent of eliminating that fact)

We're not dumb and we're not blind
They're all sitting in your cells
While you pave the road to hell (We're incarcerating poor, dumb children? I missed the memo!)

What kind of father would take his own daughter's rights away (HUH? I suppose we're talking about the right to murder one's own progeny here; fair enough!)
And what kind of father might hate his own daughter if she were gay (He doesn't seem to have a problem with the fact his veep's daughter is, in fact, gay)

I can only imagine what the first lady has to say
You've come a long way from whiskey and cocaine (OHHH, Good One! Let's trash the President's past drug use, shall we?)

How do you sleep while the rest of us cry
How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye
How do you walk with your head held high
Can you even look me in the eye

Let me tell you bout hard work (Sure, the hard work you've read SO MUCH about while getting your nails done)
Minimum wage with a baby on the way (Your record company only pays you $5.50 an hour? I'm sure one of your purses costs more than those minimum wage earners you sing so sanctimoniously about makes in a year!)

Let me tell you bout hard work
Rebuilding your house after the bombs took them away (Glad you're there to tell us about that one. The media's not reporting on the president's domestic bombing campaign!)

Let me tell you bout hard work
Building a bed out of a cardboard box (In Tinseltown, no less! Gee, you think you might want to do something locally there?)

Let me tell you bout hard work
Hard work
Hard work
You don't know nothing bout hard work (neither do you, gal!)
Hard work
Hard work
Oh

How do you sleep at night
How do you walk with your head held high
Dear Mr. President
You'd never take a walk with me
Would you (After that drivel, I'd HOPE NOT!)

God, I'm glad these overpaid, overhyped performers are there to "tell you bout hard work". The rest of us just might not understand otherwise (rolls eyes!)

Congratulations, Pink on the most disgustingly self righteous and sanctimonious crap since RATM stopped selling socialism at $50 a head.