Ghastly churl who once ruled Tripoli,
Out of sight—where can he be?
That man is infamous; he once barked and keened,
But now he is nowhere to be seen.

Hey now, where is Muammar?
Zany zoomed to Zanzibar?
Crazy guy’s likely gone far—
Back home so few love him.

That grotesque squirr’l did nothing that was good;
His tirades hazy, not understood.
Certain that he’s nuts—it’s all gone, his mind. . .
A wacko Waldo that’s hard to find.

Hey now, where is Muammar?
Holed up, Hotel Akabar?
Crazy: high he’s raised the bar—
Back home so few love him.

Creep creep-creep-creeps off.

Hey now, where is Muammar?
Sailing, railing at a spar?
Wailing “Allahu Akbar”?
Back home so few love him.

That grotesque churl’s no doubt gone far away.
He probably figured, hey, it ain’t healthy to stay.
Bet he’s off far. . .hopes to make a new start.
Like Il Duce, he might be torn apart.

Hey now, where is Muammar?
Maybe gone to Myanmar,
Playing golf, trying for par?
That land’s generals’d love him.

Creep-creep-creep-creeps far
Deep, deep shit Libya. . . .


Two possible postscripts:

Hey now, they found Muammar;
Crazy didn’t get too far.
Destination: the Hague bar
To make a case of him.
Creep, creep, creep, creep. . .dock.

Hey now, they found Muammar;
Crazy didn’t get too far.
His head spitted on a spar—
The head case was done in.
Creep, creep, creep, creep offed.