She must belong to drunk-tank dipso;
She’s nuts, has lost her way.
Or doing the Caligari Calypso,
The somnambulism sway.
She says she believes that rotten hoods are in the hoods
And kidnapping good folks away.
And all you can do is laugh at her,
Once-sane J. McCain, and J.D. Hay[worth].

Arizona don’t go for rainbow shades,
Arizona don’t look like this part of the world,
Why, why?
Arizona, for comics this state’s made;
Arizona, this trio—me río* [in] spades.

He’s stripped of his pride
Since he pandered, slandered, wandered to the dark side.
He strayed, still his fate was: crush Hayworthless in their race.
Awful boner, when he went north to choose
Awful droner moron for running mate.

Foulup, creep, nut from drunk-tank dipso—
Three who babble and bray
In state that hates Poncho and Cisco
And wants them not to stay.
The scenery is awful good, although one should
From Phoenix metro stay away—
Much better to go stand atop a table**
Away from the f**ked-up fray.

Arizona ain’t all a brain-dead state,
Arizona has a nut gov and two ahole guys.
Arizona, a place to visit—great—
Arizona, if these three would vacate.


*I laugh
**mesa