A Simple Desultory Philippic (Or How I Was Robert McNamara'd Into Submission)

I was Union Jacked, Kerouac'd
John Birched, stopped and searched
Rolling Stoned and Beatled till I'm blind
I've been Ayn Randed, nearly branded
Communist 'cos I'm lefthanded:
That's the hand they use, well, never mind!

I've been Walt Disneyed, Dis Disleyed
John Lennoned, Krishna Menoned
Walter Brennan punched out Cassius Clay
I've heard the truth from Lenny Bruce
And all my wealth won't buy me health
So I smoke a pint of tea a day

I knew a man his brain so small
He couldn't think of nothin' at all
He's not the same as you and me
He doesn't dig poetry. He's so unhip that
When you say Dylan, he thinks you're talkin' about Dylan Thomas
Whoever he is
The man ain't got no culture
But its alright, Ma
It's just sumpthin' I learned over in England

I've been James Joyced, Rolls Royced
Mick Jaggered, silver daggered
Andy Warhol won't you please come home?
I've been mother, fathered, aunt and uncled
Tom Wilsoned, Art Garfunkled
Barry Kornfeld's mother's on the phone

When in London, do as I do
Find yourself a friendly haiku
Go to sleep for ten or fifteen years