When your cheery tales are tall,
So dreary are your lies; we ain't heard them all.
E.g., you lied about the bucks
Destined not to be bound
To the bridge croaked by Congress, not ya--
That's who shut it down.
Yeah, the bridge croaker: Congress, not ya.
Spread the bull around.

Now I'm bound to doubt
Other claims you bleat.
We see you worked so hard
To steer the bridge through.
You played a part
With partner chum,
Crooked Ted Stevens clown
For the bridge smoked by Congress, not ya.
A high pile o' brown
'bout the bridge choked by Congress; caught ya
Pilin' up the brown.

Tale on, fibster girl;
Tales don't fly.
It's kinda dumb, your line,
When it's clear that what you bray
Is dumps that kine
Drop from the rear end
And sully the behind.

Spiked the bridge--croaker: Congress, not ya.
You and Ted the swine
Pined for bridge; for it money sought ya;
Now you've a new line.