A Simple Desultory Philippic (Or How I Was Robert McNamara'd Into Submission)

I was Union Jacked, Kerouac'd
 John Birched, stopped and searched
 Rolling Stoned and Beatled till I'm blind
 I've been Ayn Randed, nearly branded
 Communist 'cos I'm lefthanded:
 That's the hand they use, well, never mind!
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 I've been Walt Disneyed, Dis Disleyed
 John Lennoned, Krishna Menoned
 Walter Brennan punched out Cassius Clay
 I've heard the truth from Lenny Bruce
 And all my wealth won't buy me health
 So I smoke a pint of tea a day
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 I knew a man his brain so small
 He couldn't think of nothin' at all
 He's not the same as you and me
 He doesn't dig poetry. He's so unhip that
 When you say Dylan, he thinks you're talkin' about Dylan Thomas
 Whoever he is
 The man ain't got no culture
 But its alright, Ma
 It's just sumpthin' I learned over in England
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 I've been James Joyced, Rolls Royced
 Mick Jaggered, silver daggered
 Andy Warhol won't you please come home?
 I've been mother, fathered, aunt and uncled
 Tom Wilsoned, Art Garfunkled
 Barry Kornfeld's mother's on the phone
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 When in London, do as I do
 Find yourself a friendly haiku
 Go to sleep for ten or fifteen years