With apologies to cousin Waddie

There was Harry in the well, of the Senate that is.

Folks was winding their stems as he wove his spell

'Bout 10,000 folks who would not exist

If it tweren't for the federal manna that fell.

Elko poets d' cowboy would e'er cease to rhyme

If that evil Tea Party snatched Humanities' loot

Never mind it was Arts money that covered the dime

And merely 3 percent of their budget to boot.

Never mind that his numbers were somewhat inflated,

Like his nom d' aplomb, ol' Pinky of Searchlight,

He stuck to his script and his enemies berated.

Though war might be lost, he'd not shirk from a fight.

Harry called them all welchers and a larcenous lot.

He defended the Bards of the Basin to those he was facin'.

He backed up the jesters of Jarbidge for all that they jot;

His high spendin' rhetoric sent liberal hearts racin'.

Not a single sawbuck would ol' Harry deduct,

Nary a nickel of largesse of the federal purse.

Up with such triflings our senator will not put

And anyone who tries gets a tea-sippin' curse.

But we dabblers in doggerel and denigrators of debt

'Bout his figuring we fret, and his reasons regret.

If not even 3 percent of a festival's poke can we get,

We'll ne'er lasso the stampede with a frayed lariat.