Let me sing a song of the non-green man.
He drinks his beer from a metal can.

He drives his Porsche without regret
and he won't pay his share of the national debt.

The world may holler, the world may roar
in harm over bombs that were thrown at Mururoa.

Bu he still enjoys his "Château Mouton Rotschild"
as if he were the President's grandson or godchild.

(Or maybe it's only a "Beaujoulais Noveau"
that helps to produce his weekly hangoveau?)

He expands his waistline instead of slimmin'
and he still pats children and smiles at women

´cause he never learnt in a harassment seminar
how dangerous these days children and women are.

One of his girl friends wears animal furs
trying to look as if they were hers.

But before we get caught in despair and in distress,
let's get out an airbrush and spray his mistress.
'

(1) I am of the deep conviction that with skillful pronounciation any two words can be made to rhyme.
(2) Spraying ladies in furcoats is a favorite ecological pastime as is burning down hot-dog stands.