The Assassinated Press

Winner of Country Music's Best Song of the Year.
Dana Goya's Toby Keith Style Anthem Takes Nashville By Storm.

By YASO ADIODI
The Assassinated Press
7/10/08

Dana Goya, country and western's newest, hottest neo-formalist, banjo pickin' savant has taken the Grand Ol' Oprey by Storm, Desert Storm, with his new hit single, an anthem for the working man called "You're Just a Rich Man's Whore". Below are the lyrics.

You're Just a Rich Man's Whore

By Dana Goya

  You stand behind to the right of your filthy rich husband
Pass a coached look and clasp the hands of the widows and orphans
With that bloodlust inside that overwhelms you quite often
In front of the cold leftovers of their loved ones in coffins.

  Oh, you’re Laura Bush, and you’re fuckin’ Lynne Cheney, and you’re Mrs. Robert Gates,
And sometimes life’s pure torture,
One of the thrills of being a rich man’s whore.

  You schedule the entertainment, the caterer, and the flowers
The guest list wields money, and money wields power
Your rich man strikes deals but otherwise looks dour
As some gangster relic croons Happy Birthday at the assigned hour.

  Oh, you’re Melissa Gates, and you’re Marjorie Billington , you’re Renda Tillerson with a face like a hamhock
And you’re life’s a coal into diamond crushing bore,
But there's no sweeter boredom than being a rich man’s whore.

  You squeal as your thoroughbred pounds the open turf
And your husband explains to the banker what the “nigger’s” worth
And the wind hasn’t the audacity to muss up your doo
As you swill gin from a paper cup and drop tranqs from the zoo.

  Oh, you’re Mrs. Tanya Snyder, and you’re Christine Iavarone, you’re Susan Allen.
A fat pig’s trophy wife,
And it’s so damned fucked but this is your life.

  For thousands a head you host a political dinner
The more thousands each, the more certain the winner
And money makes fine dining all the more finer
When the canopies will a million-fold repay the diner.

  Oh, you’re Marcia Carlucci, your husbands a butcher, and you’re Didi Cutler, and you’re fuckfaced Darby Rove
Whose little fat man hasn’t the balls to do the killing himself
But still you’d lease a death camp oven before you’d slave over a stove.

You do charity work and claim it’s to give something back
But your gowns are designer while your charity’s off the rack
Your love relies on profit ala NAFTA, the WTO, and GATT
And illiterate, half-breed Johnny better get his stinkin’ ass to Iraq.

  Oh, you’re Buffy Cafritz, and Grace Ann Koppel, you’re Kathleene Card, and Christine Delay,
And you serve on a thousand committees while the world wastes away
And you thank the mothers for their charitable contribution,
While you send their flesh and blood off to fight your war
Without fear of epiphany or rebellion or retribution
From the rabble that dotes on their tabloids with their rich men’s whores.

  You redecorate all the museums into quaint mausoleums
Where you inter sculpture, drawings and paintings
So the kids get turned off when they’re forced to go see ‘em.
And hubby’s media has killed then fucked all the artists
Like the czarist police falling on a group of Decembrists.

  Oh, you’re Wendy Murdoch, and Barbara Jean Allbritton, and you’re Katharine Bradley
And the arts better know what’s in store
When their sat on by a rich man’s whore.

  Your daddy was wealthy, but the hubbies a loser Ann Coulter told me
Shot down by a girl of 14 years in black pajamas
Firing a bolt action rifle from flat on her keester
Shot down by Ho's stone age ack-ack and held prisoner
Shot down forever by the lie of Tonkin plus cruiser.

  Oh, you’re Cindy McCain, and you’re Sarah Kerrey, and you’re Teresa Heinz Kerry, and Kate Lehrer too
A 12 step druggy and still a real boozer.
And a just a rich man’s whore to boot too.

  Anorexia suits you, it’s your holiday from bolemia
And spas where they rub you, slop you, cream ya and steam ya
And roll you over plug in a colonic, flush out and ream ya
A first class sphincter, sure, a squeaky cherub’s ass might redeem ya.

  Oh, you’re Nancy Kissinger, and Maureen O’Reilly, Carol Hitchens and Melania Trump.

  You have two homes in Aspen and one in Vail too
Because the assholes who work give all their money to you
You shake it in Monaco, Palm Springs and Nice
Because for every pound of flesh your husband gets a taste.

  Oh, your fat Jean Hastert, and Karen Frist, forelorn Rose Forbes, and Margaret Bush,
  You remain the rich man’s whore
While the jarheads from Ohio spends another Christmas in the Kush.

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