Bill Frist is an asshole, Poker is gone

Ode to Billy Frist (to the tune of Kenny Rogers' "The Gambler")


On a cold Autumn evening,
On an Amtrak bound for Vegas,
I met a politician
He said his name was Billy Frist.

Said he knew life's biggest secrets,
And he'd trade them for my bourbon.
So I handed him my bottle,
And he told me what I'd missed.

He said, "Son, I've made a life
Out of thumping this here Bible.
Knowing how to get your vote
And all that right-wing cash.

I can see by your eyes
You don't like preachin' politicians,
But Christian rich will vote for me
As sure as poor white trash.

(Chorus)
You gotta know how to preach 'em,
Know how to reach 'em.
Know when to scare the rubes,
And when to terrify.
You never count your votes up
'Til you've convinced the suckers
That you're on the same side
As the Big Guy in the sky.

Now every preacher knows
That on any given Sunday
Some reasonable people
Won't believe this rhetoric

Just label them as gamblers,
Perverts, gays, and liberals.
The public won't care what they say
Because they must be sick."

(Chorus)

And when he'd finished speaking,
He guzzled down the bourbon,
Then checked his lottery tickets
And slapped me on the thigh.

"You know, son," he whispered to me,
"You'd have made a fine House pageboy.
Let's head back to the bathroom,
And I can show you why."

(Chorus)
You gotta know how to preach 'em,
Know how to reach 'em.
Know when to scare the rubes,
And when to terrify.
You never count your votes up
'Til you've convinced the suckers
That you're on the same side
As the Big Guy in the sky.