Why I will never (ever) be President (of anything)

The Ballad of Saddam Hussein (and me)
      — Sung to the tune of Joe Hill

Siggy says: "I give up. Vut do you zink it means?"

I dreamed I shot Saddam Hussein,
Left a flechettte in his eye.
But that arrow only slowed him down,
Saddam he didn't die.
Saddam he didn't die.

It started when he walked by
With his ageing Labrador.
That vicious mutt leaped for my throat,
But I blocked him with my arm.
I blocked him with my arm.

The humiliation of his dog,
Angered Saddam, you see.
Right then and there, like Daffy Duck,
He swore revenge on me.
He swore revenge on me.

So I shot him in the head,
The bullet pierced his brain.
Though he collapsed upon the floor,
The wound only made him mad,
It only made him mad.

When I saw that he was coming to,
I kicked him in the side.
He rolled away and called his dog —
The chase was on again.
The chase was on again.

While making plans to kill me off,
He rubbed his hands with glee.
'Twas not only me he wanted dead,
He had a list of enemies.
A list of enemies.

The last I saw, he stood in a line,
Protected by robots.
He was going to torch my house,
And things seemed pretty dire.
Things seemed pretty dire.

Heart-breakingly, I then woke up,
With no resolution found.
For all I know, Saddam's still there,
Plotting my demise.
Plotting my demise.

But that isn't why I will never be president (of anything).