Colin Powell and the Presidents rode the breeze
In a posse of pea-green jets;
Their tongues were honey, and plenty of money
Had fuelled their tete-a-tetes.
As Powell looked down at the world below
He plugged in his Fender bass:
"Hey presto, Presidents, off we go,
"We're heads of the human race."
"Dear Prez, are you willing to make a quick killing?"
"For the folks," says Prez, "let 'em fall" -
So they opened the doors and united their cause
(Though the Turkmeni wouldn't play ball).
They dined on the Taliban quicker than Caliban,
Beneath a disposable moon,
Though the shape of the band they formed in the sand
Was as crude as an ancient cartoon.