The Pre-Election Blues

I scanned the list of candidates with withering disdain.
Picking out my Number One was really quite a pain.
If only I could emigrate and go and live in Spain!
I think I’ve got the pre-election blues.

Ben Howe might well be Abel, but he makes me feel like Cain.
There’s something ‘bout his photo that would drive a man insane.
And that picture of Tom Morrissey beside an airbrushed train!
No wonder I’ve the pre-election blues.

Michael Smyth, with sleeves rolled up, might be the one to gain.
He looks as though he’d cope quite well with all the stress and strain,
Though voting Fianna Fail of course, would go against the grain –
It’s giving me the pre-election blues.

And as for Mister Rainey and his aerial campaign,
I hope his swaying monster will be mowed down by a plane.
I wonder if it shelters him whene’er it starts to rain?
Protected from the pre-election blues.

The Socialists are mouthing off the same old tired refrain,
Saying we’d be better off in Georgia or Ukraine,
And naturally I couldn’t bring myself to vote Sinn Fein.
Oh dear I’ve got the pre-election blues.

And then, when things seemed really black, a switch clicked in my brain.
I knew I wouldn’t give my vote to Tom or Dick or Jane.
For Monica’s my candidate, ‘tis easy to explain –
With such a perfect running mate, I never could complain.
Compared to her, the others can be flushed right down the drain.
The magical Recycling Queen – forever may she reign,
And banish all my pre-election blues.