The G.O.P. is dead.
The many friends that looked to him for aid
Now stand around sad faced and half afraid.
This stalwart friend, their envelopes once filled
But failed to make provision in his will.
They never dreamed that he was broke; like many more
The shadow of the wolf now dims their door
And many friends that for him used to pray
See but starvation in their future day.
The G.O.P. is dead.
We hardly could find out the cause, that made him suffer so.
Most symptoms we could diagnose, but really didn't know.
We knew his heart was very bad, his "System" had collapsed,
And that four months ago, he suffered a relapse.
Our treatments were of no avail, great sums of cash were used
Until the National Budget was unbalanced and abused.
So dear old Dr. Roosevelt was really glad to see
The suffering Grand Old Party pass out of his misery.
The G.O.P. is dead.
And so an inquest will be held, the coroner will see
Just what the real condition was and why his end should be
Shrouded in such an avalanche of woes
And ills of which no other "party" knows.
Just which ill caused his death, snuffed out his life,
Should be made known to end our national strife.
We'll bury him March fourth, Inauguration day
Where he will sleep 'til resurrection day.
The G.O.P. is dead.
The funeral as planned will be a very grand affair,
As many friends will gather 'round whlie some his coffin bear
To its last resting place beside the last
Relics of the now forgotten past.
Poor Hoover, Curtis, Mellon, pallbearer will be named
With Stimson, Smoot and Watson, also famed,
For they are counted as his closest friends.
They all stood by him 'til the bitter end.
The G.O.P. is dead.
We're sorry boys, we know it's tough for you.
He was a good employer, tried and true;
He once had a marvelous pull with Uncle Sam
And should have taken care of every man
But now he's gone, but not forgotten, no.
Who could forget the misery, grief and woe
Caused by his awful sickness. It is best that he should go.
May nother e'er disturb his well earned rest.