YOUSE CHOOSE BABAMA If anyone still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer. please welcome Mr. Frank Sinatra. I will now become a swirling globe of pure light. you're probably talking to David Fucking Dimbleby. It's the answer told by lines that stretched around schools and churches your big-ass self five minutes a week in Pilates class John McCain's fishfuck eyes in numbers this nation has never seen, by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different. was the drinks queue. would attract hot buskers. might get their fucking house unrepossessed. It's the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled smoking and non-smoking fat-saturated and carbohydrated fistbumping and dickwrangling Americans. It's been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this date in this election at this defining moment change change as an irritating abstract noun to replace 'terror' change in billowing perfumed clouds of rhetoric change like Eddie Murphy in the 1988 comedy classic has come to America. A little bit earlier this evening, I received an extraordinarily gracious call an ironic, jerky thumbs-up a lovely set of fish knives a masterclass in body popping from Senator McCain. I congratulate him; I congratulate Governor Palin for all that they've achieved. gung-slurring. Creationist winking. 'moose hockey'. The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. I promise you, we as a people will get there. a cab. down. Iran. As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, we are not enemies but friends. please don't assassinate me. I'll have a Gettysburger, hold the dill. I am a free man, not a fucking biscuit. And to all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces, to those who are huddled around their radios in the forgotten corners of the world: our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared. I got 99 problems but Alan Yentob's definitely not top of my list. if it's plugged in, don't take it in the bath. coming up on BBC Radio 2, Lionel Ritchie. And a cock gag. This is our time, to put our people back to work and open widen personalise with High School Musical posters and shit sing a selection from the greatest hits of the doors for our kids. And where we are met with cynicism and doubts and those who tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes, we can. May I help you? Hey, whaddya gonna do? Have a nice epoch. Thank you. God bless you. And may God be God.
YOUSE CHOOSE BABAMA
If anyone still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer. please welcome Mr. Frank Sinatra. I will now become a swirling globe of pure light. you're probably talking to David Fucking Dimbleby.
It's the answer told by lines that stretched around schools and churches your big-ass self five minutes a week in Pilates class John McCain's fishfuck eyes in numbers this nation has never seen, by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different. was the drinks queue. would attract hot buskers. might get their fucking house unrepossessed.
It's the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled smoking and non-smoking fat-saturated and carbohydrated fistbumping and dickwrangling Americans.
It's been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this date in this election at this defining moment change change as an irritating abstract noun to replace 'terror' change in billowing perfumed clouds of rhetoric change like Eddie Murphy in the 1988 comedy classic has come to America.
A little bit earlier this evening, I received an extraordinarily gracious call an ironic, jerky thumbs-up a lovely set of fish knives a masterclass in body popping from Senator McCain.
I congratulate him; I congratulate Governor Palin for all that they've achieved. gung-slurring. Creationist winking. 'moose hockey'.
The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. I promise you, we as a people will get there. a cab. down. Iran.
As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, we are not enemies but friends. please don't assassinate me. I'll have a Gettysburger, hold the dill. I am a free man, not a fucking biscuit.
And to all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces, to those who are huddled around their radios in the forgotten corners of the world: our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared. I got 99 problems but Alan Yentob's definitely not top of my list. if it's plugged in, don't take it in the bath. coming up on BBC Radio 2, Lionel Ritchie. And a cock gag.
This is our time, to put our people back to work and open widen personalise with High School Musical posters and shit sing a selection from the greatest hits of the doors for our kids.
And where we are met with cynicism and doubts and those who tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes, we can. May I help you? Hey, whaddya gonna do? Have a nice epoch.
Thank you. God bless you. And may God be God.