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Here's a soulful little ditty sung to the tune of "One Night In Bangkok" from the musical "Chess." Lyrics by Michael T. Rose and Javier Grillo-Marxuach.

[Ed: Congratulations. I usually don't do song parodies, as they rarely work in written form....]

Our Man In Baghdad

Baghdad! 
Middle Eastern city. 
And the city don't know what the city will get. 
The creme de la creme of the arsenal in a raid with  
everything but Dan Quayle. 

Bombs fly! Doesn't seem a minute since the last one fell  
with some nerve gas in it. 
No chance! Hop into the shelter 
Sitting under fire and your skin begins to swelter 

It's Cambodia; or Vietnam; or Dresden; or... or this place! 

Chorus: 

Our man in Baghdad 
Calls in to Atlanta 
Not much between the press and shell debris 

We'll hear his broadcast underneath our gas masks 
And if I'm lucky, Scuds won't fall on me 
I can hear an air raid siren close to me 

One bomb's very like another 
when your head's down under the table, brother 
It's a blast! It's a scream! It's really quite a thrill 
To be out here in the rubble; we're examining the last kill 

Wait a minute!  If you've seen one network's retired 
military commentators... 

Skin lice! Open sores! We're not afraid  
of the mustard gas pustules 

Ca-ble! You're looking at a newsman 
Who's every phrase is out on the tube, man 
I get my news before the networks, Brokaw! 

I don't see Rather reading the kind of scoops 
I'm postulating 
I'd give you Pete; I'll take Wolf Blitzer 
And the Times will print "whatever fits her." 

And you better believe that Saddam is watching 
...from his bunker 

Chorus: 

Our Man in Baghdad 
Makes the war seem simple 
He's got a platitude for every shot 

He's not afraid of going over budget 
And if we're lucky, the Allies won't choke 
I can smell a story in the acrid smoke 

Chorus repeats, and out... 

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