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His Pay is Good But his Company Stinks

True beat poetry can only survive by being sociopolitically inchoate references in a time of conformist duplicity. Here's my attempt:

"Eisenhower's CD-Burner"

I smell fine fiction:
Tonkin bologna cooking
Shi'a coca leaves crackling
Autumn houses Syrian Spring
Not the Winter-house of Saud.

Sound off, Soldier:
What we did in Iraq
We can do in Arak!
Consumer choice is to
consume the choice
To press the "like button"
On the like-to-press button
and Bomb the Bam!

Give doggie boney:
Well done, little Gholam.
But who signed your Khem?