Pop star rips Bush a new one

Once upon a time, as a fresh-faced college graduate in the year 2000, I landed a job as an editor at a teen magazine in NYC. My job was to interview and write about all the bubbly blond celebrities coming down the pike. These were the days of Britney and Justin (together! forever in love! and virginal!), the Backstreet Boys, and Mandy Moore -- when she was all of (eeeeep) fifteen years old.

One day, a crazy new pop act calling herself "Pink" came to our office for an interview. She was small and charming, with short platinum blond hair and an actual brain, which she actually -- shockingly -- ventured to use during the course of our interview. (See, most of the new wannabe celebrities we interviewed had been thoroughly trained by their PR peeps before coming to us. They said and did little beyond smiling, nodding, tossing their hair around and professing their bountiful love of singing.)

Anyway, Pink was the first -- and only -- burgeoning celebrity I'd met at that point who seemed bright and passionate enough to get somewhere. Thankfully, she didn't seem "trained." She spoke openly about her sordid past as a crazy club kid in Philadelphia, about her adolescent dalliances with hardcore drugs and about how -- and why -- she wanted to make it. She said she wanted to help empower other young women, which I found impressive.

And she wrote most of her own music, which was -- seriously -- a big deal among teenybop pop tarts back then. She actually seemed, well, cool.

Sure, her songs were kinda cheesy. But she had a pretty voice, and at least she was writing her stuff herself, and she cared about something bigger than, well, her own rising fame and fortune. (Oh, and lest I forget -- she complimented me on my hair, which was platinum with, yes, pink streaks back then.)

In the last six years, Pink has become a full-fledged pop star, floating in and out of the Billboard charts as well as the tabloids. She's made a name for herself as a smart and outspoken singer-songwriter who dares to broach subjects like body image, domestic abuse and, now, the sheer incompetence of president Bush.

Yes...her new song, "Dear Mr. President," swiftly and sadly rips George W. a new one -- about his war in Iraq, his treatment of Cindy Sheehan, and his avoidance of domestic issues like homelessness. Check out the lyrics below, and isten to it here..."Dear Mr. President" (feat. Indigo Girls)

Dear Mr. President

Come take a walk with me

Let's pretend we're just two people and

You're not better than me

I'd like to ask you some questions if we can speak honestly

What do you feel when you see all the homeless on the street

Who do you pray for at night before you go to sleep

What do you feel when you look in the mirror

Are you proud

How do you sleep while the rest of us cry

How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye

How do you walk with your head held high

Can you even look me in the eye

And tell me why

Dear Mr. President

Were you a lonely boy

Are you a lonely boy

How can you say

No child is left behind

We're not dumb and we're not blind

They're all sitting in your cells

While you pay the road to hell

What kind of father would take his own daughter's rights away

And what kind of father might hate his own daughter if she were gay

I can only imagine what the first lady has to say

You've come a long way from whiskey and cocaine

How do you sleep while the rest of us cry

How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye

How do you walk with your head held high

Can you even look me in the eye

Let me tell you bout hard work

Minimum wage with a baby on the way

Let me tell you bout hard work

Rebuilding your house after the bombs took them away

Let me tell you bout hard work

Building a bed out of a cardboard box

Let me tell you bout hard work

You don't know nothing bout hard work...