On Seeing Barack Obama Chewing Gum in Saudi Arabia (with apologies to John Prine)

Me and Obama both chew Nicorettes,

got that much in common; well, that and Tourette’s.

A big dog like him, and a small one like me;

imagine that, pissing on the same tree.

I get mine at Walmart, Equate, the off-brand,

while his are the finest, peeled and placed in his hand.

He takes his gum out, and then he pokes it back in.

I do it myself, and, brother, it ain’t no sin.

It’s better than smoking or doing that Skoal,

but nicotine gum will take a hold.

I chew it all day, and I chew it all night.

I’ll bet Barry does, too, and, hey, that’s alright.

I go off to dream land with a wad in my mouth,

and wake up to find my gum has gone south.

I look on the pillow and check the bed sheets:

If my wife finds it first, you know I’m dead meat.

I once found a piece on my underwear;

more often than not, it’s stuck in my hair.

Now, I wonder if that’s why Barack he went grey?

That ain’t his hair, buddy, just gum gone astray.

So chew away, Barry, chew on with pride,

some things that you do just can’t be denied.

SKJ, 02/08/14