THE GOOSE THAT LAYS THE GOLDEN WIG IN A FAIRY TALE

I’m a popular guy these days.
The media can’t get enough of me.

Everybody keeps following me around,
waiting for the next hairpiece to drop.

I’m singing a song the whole day long,
“The bird, bird, bird, the bird is the Word.”
In the beginning was the Bird. Haven’t you heard?

She rides around in the crook of my arm,
like a good luck charm against reality.

You can’t say she’s a hypocrite—
she wears her own wig, after all.
You’re looking good, babe!

The laws of Nature don’t apply anymore.
It doesn’t even matter what’s false or true.

It was the will of the American People—
their Last Will and Testament.
It was the will of God.

It was the old woman who lived in a shoe.
(She had so many wigs, she didn’t know what to do.)

Who will be next to get behind me in time
for this golden opportunity? Will it be you?

(You can’t see it on my head,
it’s been cut out of the picture—
but because it’s there, all this is true.)