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 a story goes a breath he likes the beers and blacking out on ginnis stout with toven and with speed Turnin out the lights and chrome and females with his fears the way he pinches his lips looks like an an anas between his ears

Hurrah, hurrah for Kavanaugh, who knew you'd get this far?

Not only did you pass the bar, you passed out at the bar.

Who would think they're selling your soul and glow in Kenneth's star?

What gets you smug in tight?

That's exactly where you are.

Let's have a shot of whiskey as we sing about whole bread.

Forces and self on women that he says that he forgets

and doesn't show the slightest morsel of regret.

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

Does anyone believe this fucking assholes on the core? Mother's shut 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 nail, your ship has come to port.

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

Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah for Kaithana, you filthy fucking prick. up your skirt and show me your support.

Hurrah, hurrah for Kaplanah, your filthy fucking trick.

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 uppercut and kicks you in a dick.

Now let's curse the GOP and pass the pints around. They back a man who's from a clan that holds a woman down

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