Let me cough this pretzel crumb up
   As our congregation swells,
And this transatlantic Eden
   Peels for Liberty with bells.
Here, where US soldiers lie,
Listen to Your Georgie's cry.

Gracious Lord, please bomb the Arabs.
   Spare their oilmen for my sake.
But if that is not too easy
   We will pardon Thy Mistake.
But, gracious Lord, whate'er shall be,
Don't let anyone bomb me.

Keep our bases uninspected
   Guide our forces by Thy Hand,
Gallant blacks from far out Georgia,
   Hispanics who've sought our land;
Protect them Lord in all our fights,
And, even more, protect the whites.

Think of what our country stands for,
   Coca-Cola, top brand names,
Wall Street's licence, bible bashing,
   Rigged elections, baseball games.
Lord, put beneath Thy special care
All bent Bushes, everywhere.

Although dear Lord I was a sinner,
   I've risen now to major crime;
I could really use Thy pardon
   Just in case I lose next time.
'Gainst Hague's judgement,
                                   keep me a crown;
And keep oil stocks from going down.

I will labour for the Project,
   This, Our Century of war,
Send white feathers to Old Europe,
   Tell 'em what they are there for,
Then wash the blood from round my throne
In the Exon safety zone.

Now I feel a little better,
   It sure is great to hear Thy Word,
Where the bones of better statesmen,
   Have so often been interred.
And now, sweet Jesus, all must wait
Because I have a golfing date.

                    (Apologies to John Betjeman)