1, 2, 3, 4 [hundred pounds]

“Let me tell you how it will be!
’cause I’m head of the GOP.”

Yeah, it’s the gasbag,
Blowhard, it’s the gasbag.

This slimy gent is far from small;
He barely can fit through the hall.

’cause he’s the fatbag,
Gross lard, it’s the fatbag.

If you drive a car, you’ll hear him bleat
On the radio; the sound ain’t sweet.
And his huge piehole ain’t in retreat.
Though he’s full of sh!t, dolts at his feet.

Fatman

The fatman is a wanton whore
(Uh, huh, he’s a pill fiend)
For his huge Oxycontin scores
(Oh yeah, loves his treats)

Yeah, it’s the flabman,
Bloat, lard, it’s the flabman.

He gives advice, and he ain’t shy
(Flabman)
But first he’ll polish off a pie
(Fat[uous] man)

He’s the jerkoff that runs the party:

Gasbag.