The obvious pun popped to mind, and I offered my contribution, which I immortalize in these bytes and pixels:
Lanny Boy, is CNN still calling?
From tow’r to tow’r, and up the aetherside?
The spring is gone, forsythia’s not blooming.
It’s you, it’s you, must go while Barack bides.
But come ye back, in sunshine or in shadow,
Or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow,
It’s I’ll be here, your arse to kick to Glasgow,
O Lanny Boy, O Lanny Boy, I’d love that so.
And if I fall, as all the leaves are falling,
And I am dead, as dead I well may be.
You’ll come and find the place where I am lying,
My ghost will kick yer arse to Tipperary.