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

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

Everyone knows the story goes at breath he likes the beers

and blacking out on Guinness Stout with Tobin and with speed.

Turning out the lights and clobin'clock and females with his fears.

The way he pitches his lips looks like an an anus 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 that selling your soul and blow in Kenneth's star?

What gets you smug in typhil and that's exactly where 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 morsel of regret.

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

Does anyone believe this fucking asshole? Let's pour another shot so we don't talk about it's 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 Kena, you filthy fucking prick.

The way you're treating women really makes me fucking sick.

I hope with Vader 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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