Ol’ Bruce is a commie who wants to tell you how to spend all your money while keeping full control of his. Also, he’s in the wheelhouse for death by the coronas, which may not be a bad thing for us overall.

‘Puter was bored so he wrote a song. Actually, he didn’t write a song. ‘Puter stole the music and rewrote the lyrics to make an irreverent parody song which he hopes offends the artist who actually did write the song.

Want to hear it? Too bad. Here goes.

C’ronavirus (Stay Home Tonight), by ‘Puter Gormogon*

Spread out now C’rona, doctors can’t figure out your strains,
You know knocking Boomers off is a killer virus’ game.
You bump off emphysem-iacs, then kill off obese ones,
And together we’re gonna go out tonight and make morgues overrun.
You don’t have to call me Fauci, C’rona, and I don’t want be your vict-um
The only code I’m ever gonna need’s your RNA transcription.
And C’rona, you’re the one!

Pelosi’s in the Congress, baby, holding up our cash,
And Schumer’s downtown in front of cameras, spoutin’ out his lies to Dana Bash.
Papa’s on his deathbed, gasping hard for air,
Mama, she’s dialing 911, praying they get there.
She’ll be there on that line when Papa ends his time ‘cause you know he’ll spit the bit.
You ain’t here to spare us, baby, you’ve turned our lives to shit!
And C’rona, you’re the tits!

C’ronavirus, prognosis is quiet dire!
COVID 19, set the world on fire!
I just want to have a vaccine, no liar!
C’ronavirus, econ’my’s gone, entire!

Andy Cuomo and Blackface Northam, don’t you know they’re gonna lockdown!
Florida and NOLA’s mayor, they’re gonna let you run around!
We’re gonna hack and drool, cancel school,
React like fools, stay up all night, a-holes clenched tight.
So C’rona pass over tonight, Grim Reaper, pass over tonight!
Hamptons are for cheaters, Elmhurst’s for the poors,
Home feeds for reporters, Ittly’s on the floor,
So kill us C’rona, that’s what you’re here for!

C’ronavirus, prognosis is quiet dire!
COVID 19, set the world on fire!
I just want to have a vaccine, no liar!
C’ronavirus, econ’my’s gone, entire!

Now I know the Chinese, they don’t like you, ‘cause you killed their economy command,
And I know Brits, they don’t dig you, BoJo never did understand,
Gubmint lowered the boom, they locked us in our rooms, with our Netflix on demand,
Docs’ll medicate us, intubate us, no one will hold our hands.
Someday we’ll look back on this and it will not seem funny.
Right now you’re bad, you’ve made us sad,
And the Dems are glad to see that we don’t have any money,
The Dems are glad to see that we don’t have any money,
Oh, the Dems are glad to see that we don’t have any money,
Well tell Dems this is their last chance, to turn us into mendicants,
‘Cause the pharma company, C’rona, just broke through a big advance!

Now the testing’s strong and you’re almost gone, but Lord have mercy,
First vaccine was a dud, bodies heaped in the mud somewhere in the swamps of Jersey.
Well, hold out, right! We’ll make it all right, ‘cause C’rona we’re coming on strong,
By the time we meet this June’s strong light, you’ll probably be gone.
I know a creepy little place in Northern California, up San Francisco way,
There’s a little lab, eh, where gene sims run all night and all day,
Servers in the back rooms humming,
So hold tight, C’rona, ‘cause don’t you know a cure is coming!
EVERYBODY SING!

C’ronavirus, prognosis is quiet dire!
COVID 19, set the world on fire!
I just want to have a vaccine, no liar!
C’ronavirus, econ’my’s gone, entire!

That’s it. That’s the song. Didn’t like it? Too frikkin’ bad. You’re not paying for this. Just shut up and enjoy the free entertainment. After all, you’re locked in and have nothing else to do.

*And that godless commie, Bruce Springsteen

'Puter

Always right, unless he isn’t, the infallible Ghettoputer F. X. Gormogons claims to be an in-law of the Volgi, although no one really believes this.

’Puter carefully follows economic and financial trends, legal affairs, and serves as the Gormogons’ financial and legal advisor. He successfully defended us against a lawsuit from a liquor distributor worth hundreds of thousands of dollars in unpaid deliveries of bootleg shandies.

The Geep has an IQ so high it is untestable and attempts to measure it have resulted in dangerously unstable results as well as injuries to researchers. Coincidentally, he publishes intelligence tests as a side gig.

His sarcasm is so highly developed it borders on the psychic, and he is often able to insult a person even before meeting them. ’Puter enjoys hunting small game with 000 slugs and punt guns, correcting homilies in real time at Mass, and undermining unions. ’Puter likes to wear a hockey mask and carry an axe into public campgrounds, where he bursts into people’s tents and screams. As you might expect, he has been shot several times but remains completely undeterred.

He assures us that his obsessive fawning over news stories involving women teachers sleeping with young students is not Freudian in any way, although he admits something similar once happened to him. Uniquely, ’Puter is unable to speak, read, or write Russian, but he is able to sing it fluently.

Geep joined the order in the mid-1980s. He arrived at the Castle door with dozens of steamer trunks and an inarticulate hissing creature of astonishingly low intelligence he calls “Sleestak.” Ghettoputer appears to make his wishes known to Sleestak, although no one is sure whether this is the result of complex sign language, expert body posture reading, or simply beating Sleestak with a rubber mallet.

‘Puter suggests the Czar suck it.