The Erring Khan And Dubyaman
Musharraf:
In the name of Allah, it’s a blight on the
nation!
Of immense shame is this proliferation!
How could he do it, this rascal of a man!
Bring such agonies to my wondrous clan!
What’s come upon him, this admired Khan
Why is this God, now a shaitaan
How on earth can he share that secret!
My pride’s in smoke, like a burning
cigarette!
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Harken dear world, to my anti-terror
pardner
But tell me, mah general: Aren’t you a
pardoner?
I reckoned you’ve forgiven, the nuclear star
Your mercy flows like votes in Florida!
You’re sounding outraged, all the same
Ranting and grunting, listing your blames
What’s on your mind, do tell me, pal
I gotta answer folks, from Maine to Cal.
Musharraf
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A curse is upon my star and crescent
You speak right, I don’t yield to dissent
But I did indeed pardon, our nuke’s father
For all the centrifuges the hero gather’d
But national secrets shall be concealed
Twisting tricks, shan’t be revealed
So I propose to punish that erring dude
How can he share those tactics shrewd!
You’re confusing me, pardner, tho it doesn’t
take much
Maybe I am old, and losin’ mah touch
How can you punish the dude you forgave
Having pardoned, a mistake so grave!
I know its been tough for Monica’s Bill
But White House’s easier than Capitol Hill
Is there some strange law in your Pakistan
That you can pardon and punish the same man?
Upon my peg
of nightcap whisky
Building those nukes is surely risky
So I shall let go my nuclear Khan
The one I shall punish is a different man!
Though teaching tricks has its pleasures
How can he share the nation’s treasures
Reverse swing is no easy nuke
This Pathan bonding makes me puke!
Sir, I know you’re lost in the nuclear
thicket
But there’s something more awesome; it’s
called cricket
They throw this red cherry, like a bloomin’
curve-ball
The dude he shall punish, is a pitcher with
gall.
Bless my stars, and then my stripes!
This sure beats, those Democrat gripes
He lets go a nuker, but catches a pitcher
I sure don’t get this South Asian picture!
All three are men, these swarthy Pathans
Wasim and Qadeer and young Irfan
What matters is not their Afghan order
But the ways and means, divided by border!
A nuke’s a small thing for national pride
You can show’em all, the things you hide
But losing to Indians, is just not on!
A lil trick revealed, and your team’s gone!
Gee! Its crazy ! This South Asian swing
My ally’s my enemy, what a strange thing
And then this confusion, with a hard red
cherry
I think I’d even prefer, fighting John
Kerry!