By Philip Kraske
I was there, and it wasn't pretty,
Twenty big dudes in ties from the city,
Sweating like pigs in their seersucker suits,
Comb-over guys all shaking in boots,
Like thieves caught stealing an old lady's purse,
Now paying piper, expecting the worst.
They gave ol' Hillary a healthy long clap,
Hoping that maybe she'd cut them some slack,
But when she smiled like Mother Superior,
Everyone knew it was just an ulterior.
She opened her notes with a thumping great whack,
And half the room jumped as if sat on a tack.
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