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 'Twas the Night Before Christmas '89 in Panama
      Twas five days before Christmas
      when all through the land,
      fingers were itchy, and called for a stand.
      The C-41's were loaded with care,
      In hopes Noriega would be blind to this dare.
      "A surgical strike would work fine and be quick."
      said an advisor who briefly felt sick.
      "Delta force could be in and out in a blink!"
      Said another advisor as he mixed a drink.
      "But the economy sucks, and we need a war!"
      Cried Danny with glee as he entered the door.
      "And with abortion out, there's too many folks,
      so let's have a war, where are the Cokes?"
      So George waved his hands in a mystical fashion,
      and looked up from his desk with unusual passion,
      "Peace doesn't work for corporate powers,
      there's no profit in having Lockheed grow flowers.
      Hughes stock has been dropping like a lead ball,
      Let Manuel know we're coming,
      Now dash away all!"
      Panamanian Children
      were snug in their beds,
      Feliz Navidad played in their heads.
      When up in the sky there arose such a clatter,
      Children leapt from their beds,
      when windows started to shatter.
      Up to the mountains Manuel flew like a flash,
      While the U.S. forces turned his HQ into trash.
      The flash of the flares on the newfallen dead,
      gave the luster of midday to pools of new red.
      When what to wondering eyes did appear,
      20,000 young troops armed with God and fresh fear
      With a leader who slept, miles from the push,
      a point of light by the name of George Bush.
      More Rapid than eagles his Hugheys they came,
      soundly thrashing the bad guys, playing their game.
      While back in a hotel where civilians did stay,
      protection was naught, ignored in this fray,
      to protect Americans was the reason it's said,
      but hundreds were wounded, nineteen were dead.
      Manuel thumbed his nose at a great world power
      he outsmarted George Bush in his finest hour.
      So George figured out he couldn't catch this man
      and put a price on his head, maybe someone else can.
      So while people here still live in the street,
      George spent our money with a lively beat
      for nothing more than an unsuccessful fight
      as he was heard to exclaim:
      "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
      Why did George hunt this rat with a gun?
      I know that a trap would not be as much fun,
      or quite as fast, or show off his toys,
      but what about those nineteen young boys?
      Did they have time to question other available ways,
      that would not have them missing their last Christmas by days.
      Please don't tell him that there are drug dealers in Atlanta.
      I live here, and don't want to be invaded.
      Copyright 1989, by Robert Stottle


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