An Indian chieftain of the great Monicans,
cigar willie, given tag and main claim to fame,
when caught de flagrante by some of his deacons,
protested a witch hunt was ruining his name!
Chief willie's cigar, among pleasures to savor
when alone with a friend, uniquely, was employed
to heighten old willie's pursuit of fine flavor,
novel means to an end, twisted tastes oft enjoyed.
A council of the tribe was called into session
to powwow if willie had misused his power,
if cigars in office demanded confession,
the white teepee no place, protégés to deflower.
To many cigar willie could do nothing wrong,
Carville de Passing Gas, half-breed lackey and pal,
would send smoke, galore, to the sky all day long,
effective hot air to hail the chief, hang the gal!
If blowing smoke's diffusive, the fix is blow more!
Many smokes! Multiply Carville de Passing Gas,
let him blow far and wide, let's the deacons, deplore,
make cigar willie the greatest, noblest of his class!
But nothing could save him, he withered on the vine,
a graying remembrance of promise, past its prime,
of power decanted, a vinegar-like wine,
usual politics...we've been had one more time.