Bill wants back in the White House again,

Where a rooster can crow like a hen.

He will regain his power

In that ivory tower,

With its bedrooms still there for his friends.

If the First Gent ‘s feet are made of clay,  

And it’s off-season for female prey,

He’ll dote on his grand daughter,

Like a man his age oughta,

While he keeps all his bimbos at bay.

He’ll be faithful, he solemnly swears.

No more chasing interns down back stairs.

He will even act pleasant

Downing foie gras and pheasant

And he’ll swear off delicious affairs.

Bill will answer when new duties call,

Though the boredom drives him up a wall.

He’ll serve crumpets at high tea

And extend his right pinky …

When congressional wives come to call. 

‘Cause the Clintons seek their dynasty.

Next in line, of course, is Hillary.

Chelsea soon will be primed,

 And at some future time,

She’ll be running  for something …  ah, me!

That’s why Hill’s on the campaign trail now.

Making nice with the folks and the cows.

In her bid for some votes, she

Stopped at a Chipotle…

No one recognized her, anyhow.

Would Bill like to be there by her side,

On her cross-country Scooby-Doo ride?

Rumor has it he’s ailing,

And his health may be failing …                 

But he’s still his wife’s guru and guide. 

And if she wins the race in the end,

He’ll hire folks who can help him to mend:

Nurses -- nubile and sexy --

For the spouse of a prexy,

When Bill’s back in the White House again.