Fish In A Barrel

I won’t shoot fish in a barrel. I won’t play darts when the board

has the bull’s eye a foot from mine so baby lay off Rob Ford.

He’s a bleached, beached, bloated white whale of a peach,

and he’s wriggling on the shore.

Hey Ahab, quit baiting Rob Ford.

I often wonder why when there’s bigger fish to fry

you throw him in the batter. Maybe just to hear him lie,

that Patois-speaking, pie-eating, ass-grabbing son-of-a-gun.

He’s pissed beyond the gills up in Beverly Hills.

Never minds his doctor and the voters’ wills.

I’d try to catch him but I’m afraid he’d run.

He’s an easy target. He’s the broad side of a barn.

He’s tangled in his weaving and he’s caught up caught up in his yarn.

And you’re tossin’ rotten apples I swore that we were saving for Steven.

Why stone a man who’s already stoned? Why throw a man who’s already throned?

Leave him alone. Leave him be. Vote. Get even.

All you picadores with your lances and your swords

tiring the toro for lefty matadors, now you’re salivating

‘cause his blood is on the floor in the sand.

The crowd around him sees that the bull is on his knees,

shouting for the estocada “Please! Please! Please!”

And you’re Lady Macbethin’ it ‘cause you got a little spot on your hand.

Another one from the You Tube Song-A-Week project... about the late great Rob Ford.