A Poem for the (very soon to be former) Governor of My Fine State
Oh, Eliot Spitzer, you stupid-ass fuck
why'd you have to go and test your luck?
Texting a hooker? Couldn't be more discreet?
Couldn't find a nice trannie on 125th Street?
We know politicians all like to get laid
But you, sir, are a fucktard; when I heard what you paid...
Forty-three hundred bucks, for a night with some chick?!
Did you think you'd end up with a gold-plaited dick?
When I googled the story, I was creeped-out to know,
That "Kristen" was the name of your favorite ho.
GROSS!
