Ode to a government bureaucrat
The portrait of a fried egg hangs on your wall
It's your daily object of desire
They call you the government oddball
Because you don't care if you manage an empire
Let others care about small town affairs
You dream of fried eggs and six pounds of steak
To the one who threatens your laziness, beware!
Your icy blue eyes will make him shake
Libertarian to the core
You give school kids grenades for a present
Sir, what's government for?
they ask of you, valiant
All you say is,: "Nothing, it's a bore!"
Yet there's that crazy side to you
The saxophone, the mad ex-wife
And through Pawnee, you blow
With virile sex appeal, unseen in life
While passions for parks leave you cold
When tempers flare and deputy directors shout
They rely on your intervention, cause you're so controlled
You frown at the head butting, and then bail them out
What's irresistible , Ron Swanson, is this:
That slight air of inconvenience with which you dismiss
All of Pawnee's employee storms and scandals
And to the barrel of your gun, you blow a kiss.