So He'll Go No More a Roving
(with apologies to Lord Byron)

So, he'll go no more a Roving
So lethal as a goon
Though his heart be still as evil,
And so many to impugn.

For the poison pen spills ink
And the smears come home to roost,
And the press begins to think,
And the hounds at last are loosed.

Though there's evil still a-brewing
And his boss no less buffoon,
Yet he'll go no more a Roving
Not a moment too soon.