And February,

And In February 65 in Washington, D.C., the subject of this song was born, but Kavanaugh was he.

No one ever dreamed a dream for just as he would be, the most disgusting womanizing drunk you'll ever see

Everyone knows the story goes a fret he likes the beers and black out on Guinness

stout with toven and with speed turning out the lights and chrome and she melts with his fears

The way he pitches his lips looks like an an an between his ears hurrah hurrah for cavana who knew you'd get this far

not only did you pass the bar you passed out at the bar

who would think that selling your soul and blow in keith star

would get you smug in typhoon that's exactly you are. Let's have a shot of whiskey as we sing about whole bread.

Forces himself on women that he says that he forgets

And doesn't show the slightest morsal of regret.

Let's pour another shot so we don't talk about his dead.

Does anyone believe this fucking ass? Let's pour another shot so we don't talk about his dead.

Does anyone believe this fucking assholes on the court? And all the while he's saying to us, come on and be a sport.

I went to Yale, I'm white and mail, your ship has come to port.

Take off your shirt, hike up your skirt and show me your support.

Hurrah, hurrah, for Kana, you filthy fucking prick. The way you're treating women really makes me fucking sick.

I hope with Bader Ginsburg goes and hits you with a stick,

gets you with an upper cut and kits you in a dick.

Now that's curse the GOP and pass the pints around.

They back a man who's from a clan that holds a woman down,

because they don't really like you if you're female or you're round.

...