Wasilla morn, she’s taking stock as the day begins.
Sighing, she says, “I can’t take it no more!”
Grieving, she opens up the freezer door
And grabs downed fare she had killed and skinned and dressed in the field.
Violently tearing some moose steaks free,
Schlepping them out angrily.

She (she gave state’s residents jive)
Is leaving (shat them with relentless jive)
Nome (she’d roped in all clothes that money could buy).
She’s leaving Nome after giving them drones
For so many years. Bye-bye.

Husband’s sore ’cause his wife got the comics’ dressing down.
He thinks she’s better than what they blare,
Even though her head is chock full of air
She breaks down and cries to this lummox, “Toddy, I’ve played their pawn.
Why do they treat me as thoughtless she?
How can they do this to me?”

She (winks like a demented elf)
Is leaving (never has thoughts but for pelf)
Nome (she mugs and comes on with that twitching eye).
She’s leaving Nome after being a drone
For so many years. Bye-bye.

Fries up moose meat, but when she walks she’ll be far away,
Slaking the thirst of the old boys who’ll pay
Thousands a plate to hear what she’ll bray.

She (couldn’t keep on keeping on)
Is seeking (as gov. she’d tired of that con)
Run (run for high office that money can buy).
Bun thing’s still tied on her head—naught inside.
’ course, there’s many jeers.
She’s leaving Nome. Buy, buy.