Twelve Secret Service agents sent
Beforehand to Colombia
To gear up for the president
Were brought home for a dumb idea:
Inviting back to their hotel
Some prostitutas straight from hell.
The dirty dozen, I’d presume,
Because of recklessness involved,
The very least will get the broom
If harsher sanctions aren’t resolved
For gaffes back to which culprits hark
Since then they have a blackmail mark
If not, what’s White House life to be
Especially when nighttime falls?
Will titillating sounds of glee
Reveal the agents in the thralls
Of ecstasy in nearby rooms
As paid-for coupling resumes?
Michelle: Go put an end to it!
Barack: I should, except one thing . . .
No thing! Now get your butt gone. Git!
. . . you don’t know what my knock might bring.
They’re on my gym team, and the best.
(Knock, knock) Hey Dad, we’ve got a test!
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