Saddam had gone somewhere, I doubt it was heaven.
The village was quiet (some even said boring),
Though don't for a moment think the wolves are all snoring.
There's a mayor next door, who'd like to come woo us.
A supervisor just north, raising money to sue us.
And a sliver of Harriman is holding us down,
From becoming a lovely coterminous town.
Soon Republicans vote, for their local committee,
If Ralph loses his hold, would it be such a pity?
In November we decide on Mike A and Lorraine,
Will the Dems ever run folks who aren't insane?
Will Big John reenter the electoral chorus,
Or pack it all in and say "who needs the tsurus?"
How much is it worth - all that fuss and abuse?
It's really the Village that now has the juice.
So by foot and by car and by chopped motorcycle,
We'll head for Joann, Patrick, Neil and Michael.
We'll bring all the weirdos and nut-jobs and freaks,
And hand all the headaches to Berean-Weeks.
Happy New Year Your Honor!