Ladies and gentlemen, I'm from Ottawa, the nation's capital.
What am I saying? The nation has no capital.
Senator Dustballs!
When every bone seems to audibly grown as you rise from a sitting position,
and the numbers you keep in your little black book and not girlfriends, they're all physicians.
When you're deeply suspicious of cellular phones because you feel they're a new form of voodoo,
and when you go to a funeral, the guy in the casket seems to look better than you do.
When everything new is suspicious to you and whatever it is, you're a guinea.
Well, these are exactly the qualifications you need for a job in the Senate.
Okay.
We are candidate senators. We have made our mark.
Here there are more dinosaurs than in Jurassic Park.
We're the old farts, the old farts we drool and we doze.
We were all born in the year of our Lord only knows.
We're ready to fight till our last breath.
We'll vanquish our enemies. We'll bore them to death.
To hold, to be swayed, to rich, to be bought.
We're the house of sober second thought.
We've been here since time immemorial.
We've seen every government trick and we're experienced in matters senatorial.
When we were young, the Dead Sea was only sick.
We're the old farts, the old farts we wear, the old school tie.
Sometimes I still chase women, but I can't remember why.
Here's all talk at once, here are dentures clack.
We can't get the push, we can't get the sack.
We can't tell an orgasm from a heart attack.
To hold, to be swayed, to rich, to be bought.
We're the house of sober second thought.