Tickets to the inaugural, else you'd not be invited.
For the rest of your days, a schedule so untaxing,
That you spend all your time on the golf course relaxing.
To Brennan, Marshall, Blackmun and Roe,
There's only four years, one month and four days to go.
TO Reagan, a movie contract, fine-printless and rich;
Four more years of acting should not be a switch.
The deficits you left us were presents so strange
That for fruitcake and socks we'd be happy to exchange.
For Nancy, a good horoscope predicting tomorrow
The arrival of designer dresses you won't have to borrow.
FOR Bill Bennett, a stereo, a loan, a pound of hash,
A "Guide to the Core" and a course book to trash.
To Allan Bloom, a Greek Temple or two,
In which you can blast "My Generation" by the Who.
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The U.C.: There's Hope Yet
