Piddle Twiddle

Congress Rushes to Place Blame

John Adams (Piddle, Twiddle from the musical 1776):
I do believe you've laid a curse on North America
A curse that we now here rehearse in Philadelphia
A second flood, a simple famine
Plagues of locusts everywhere
Or a cataclysmic earthquake
I'd accept with some despair
But, no, you sent us Congress.
Good God, sir, was that fair?

I say it with humility in Philadelphia
We're your responsibility in Philadephia
If you don't want to see us hanging
From some far-off British hill
If you don't want the voice of independency forever still
Then God, sir, get thee to it
For Congress never will

You see, we piddle, twiddle, and resolve
Not one damn thing do we solve
Piddle, twiddle, and resolve
Nothing's ever solved in
Foul, fetid, fuming, foggy, filthy Philadephia!