Satire: Thoughts of a young mujahed on the occasion of bombing a schoolyard

[The Night Before]
Is it Hizbut Tahrir or His Butt I fear?
Be it Hizbut or His Butt it makes me feel queer.
If Hizbut's a party and his butt is tarty,
Then which of the two is the one that smells farty?
Oh his butt, oh his butt, oh his butt Tahrir,
Liberation in Islam is what we all cheer,
For Liberation means we are slaves to Allah,
Not slaves to ourselves, or Shah, or Mullah,
By us, we mean men, not the kufr or girlies,
Who'd be slaves to us, or it would be squirrely,
For the Moon God we love, who lives in a black rock,
Commands men to take slaves, for men have a cock.
And that brings my thoughts back to Tahrir and his butt,
It reminds me of a sheep that I kept in my hut,
Back in old Pakistan, where the Talibs were gay,
And the camels, and sheep, and boys ran away,
And if he doesn't like it, and I can't get him drunk,
Then I'll call him takfir, and force open his trunk.
And when the dawn comes, I'll check the bomb in the truck,
And leave on my mission, praise Allah for my luck,
For I've lived a bad life, sinned thousands of times,
With opium, women, boys, whisky, and crimes.

[En Route]
Now three score and twelve sloe eyed virgins await,
My express ride to heaven on ammonium nitrate.
Oh Hizbut, oh his butt, oh Hizbut Tahrir,
I crashed into a schoolyard, no Americans here.
Now I see, they are Shi'ites, it was not a mistake,
See them play, Press the trigger, and the Earth WILL SHAKE!

[In Hell]
Oh Hizbut, Oh Hizbut, Oh Hizbut Tahrir,
There are no sloe eyed virgins, or raisins, down here.

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